Housebroken 2: Apple of His Eye
by ImAGiver
Summary: A look into Oliver Queen's life as a new, single father to the fastest boy alive, Bart Allen. When something threatens that bond, will Oliver and Bart make it out unscathed? Adopted from sarahofearth, my old account . Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I've adopted my old story (under my sarahofearth account)! Yay. I just missed writing these guys too much but didn't really feel like doing the Red Herring anymore. It was annoying to write Tess. Hope you guys like this version.

I've missed basically all this last and previous season. Without Bart or Lex, I just don't see the allure in the show anymore. But I don't want the CW to get rid of it. It's prolly one of their only good shows…

XxxxXXXxxxX

"Bart, we gotta get going!" I yelled up the stairs. I lifted the cuff of my brown leather jacket to check my divers watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. This was how our mornings kept starting: Bart getting up at later and later hours and me being late for my board meetings.

I knew it wasn't his fault. The League had been tirelessly working to stop more of Lex's plans to rule the world, this time by utilizing the very superheroes he had been trying to destroy a few months prior. If he weren't my mortal enemy, I probably would've been getting business tips from

With tousled hair that made him look younger than his sixteen years, Bart ascended the stairs at an unusually slow pace, his backpack hung off his shoulder and his eyes blinked languidly. He was wearing his red hoodie underneath the Excelsior Prep uniform, for which I was grateful. Some days he would come down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, claiming he was ready for school. I think it was just to spite me but he'd swear he was too tired to tell the difference.

"C'mon, Bart, enough dawdling. We're already late." I said impatiently, taking his backpack from his shoulder as soon as he made it to the first floor landing of our superhero base/home. I slung it onto my own back, hoping it would lessen the tired boy's load and make him move a little faster. One would think that wouldn't be a problem for the fastest boy alive, but when he was tired like this (which was most mornings), his power didn't function that well.

Hence, why I had to be stuck herding his butt to school.

"I don't see why," Bart began as we made our way into the garage. I hurriedly selected a random set of keys off the wall and beeped the locks open belonging to one of my twenty sports cars. I cringed every time Bart started sentences off like that because it usually preceded some complaint or question or comment I was forced to answer in some patient tone of voice. "I don't see why AC and Vic can't just drive me to school… At least I wouldn't be read the riot act every time I took too long to tie my shoes."

I sighed, peeling out of the garage with such precision and control, Bart barely flinched. Then again, he was used to breakneck speeds so I didn't usually evoke any screams from him because of my driving. "You were asleep when we got back from the mission, but we agreed AC and Vic would get an earlier start and head back to Lex's hideaway."

"They took the jet?" Bart asked, searching for something in his red backpack with a lightning bolt stitched to the front.

"No, Vic just water skied on AC's back. Yes, they took the jet." I quipped impatiently, honking my horn at a driver that was already going at least ten miles over the speed limit. "God! Were these people born in the '20s? They're driving like grandmas!"

"Somebody didn't eat his wheaties this morning." Bart said in a condescending voice, finally finding the thing he was searching for with an audible, "Ah-ha!"

"Well, maybe if somebody would get up the first time when I tell them to…" I trailed off, glancing at Bart, who was in his own little world as he took a bite of the snickers bar he recovered from his backpack.

I stopped and pursed my lips. "Baart..."

He turned to me, snapping out of his sweet-filled reverie, his face slightly guilty at the sound of my tone. "Yeah?" he replied over the candy in his mouth.

"Where did you get that and why are you eating it for breakfast?" I enquired, pinning the candy bar with a critical stare. Bart hid it slightly from my view as if I would be less mad if I couldn't see it.

He swallowed the last bite and looked desperately like he wanted to take another. "C'mon, Ollie, just because you've been on this health binge doesn't mean I have to."

"It's not a health binge. And we're both doing it to get your calorie intake back to normal levels. You can't keep running on sugars and junk food all the time." I advised. "The nutritionist-"

"Here we go with the nutritionist again. You wouldn't be putting me through half this torture if she weren't insanely _bonita_." Bart said, pouting a little.

Ugh, why did he think everything I did was to make his life miserable? Is this what regular parents had to deal with? Because I swore I couldn't recall complaining half as much as Bart does. "Just bare with me, Bart. You need to follow this regiment to make sure your ability is in working order. Once you get a clean bill of health, I promise you can eat as many empty calories as you want."

With that, I plucked the candy bar out of his hand and put it in the side pocket of the car. Bart slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms and mumbling something about me being a "candy Nazi."

I sighed as we rolled to a stop in front of Excelsior Prep's lavish courtyard. I unlocked the door and Bart began gathering his stuff together. I impatiently tapped the steering wheel to a haphazard beat, willing the kid to go faster. While he was zipping up his backpack, his eyes caught something in his bag. He paused and I looked at him, incredulous he was actually stopping. "Oh..." He said regretfully.

"Oh?" I quirked an eyebrow. "Oh what? Bart, you need to get to class. What's wrong?"

He pulled out the peach-colored piece of paper and handed it to me with a sheepish grimace on his face. "I forgot about this..."

I took the paper from his hand, read it, and closed my eyes, letting my head fall against the steering wheel. "A parent-teacher conference?" I asked, glancing at the brown-haired teen from my position against the wheel, who in turn lifted his shoulders disarmingly. "Bart, this is set for tonight. Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Well, my teacher gave it to me at the end of class and by then I was so focused on the mission that I hadn't even cared what the heck she was talking about because she blabbers on forever in history class so I kinda just forgot." He took a deep breath and looked at me anxiously. "I'm sorry."

Again, I let out a large exhale and unclicked the pen from my shirt pocket, scrawling my name across the bottom line which ensured I had gotten the memo. Yeah, gotten a little late, I wanted to add. Instead, I handed the paper back to Bart who mumbled a thank you and finished gathering his stuff. "I'll see you later."

Bart nodded with his head down, obviously disappointed in himself. I wanted to offer an encouraging word to my surrogate son, but I was still irritated about having to rearrange my schedule so my mouth remained shut.

Bart exited the car reluctantly, looking like he wanted to say something but unable to find the words, which was a surprise in itself. Taking one last glance at Bart's retreating form, I shifted the car into drive and made my way out of the gates at a definitely illegal speed.

I took the freeway on my way downtown to Queen Towers, spying the lofty skyscraper a ways off, peaking over the horizon. Thoughts reminiscent of times when I used to play in my father's office there, back when he was still running things, invaded my mind. Some days, I kind of missed the guy, but our relationship never held much meaning aside from the occasional small talk. Often times when I was younger, I got the itching feeling I was just another business investment that he had to nurture to take over his position in the future.

Well, I hope he could look down from heaven proudly because I went along perfectly with the "big plan." I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening as anger surged through my being, like it always did whenever I meditated too long on my darker past. I shook my head, forcing myself to stop grousing over spilt milk and tart focusing on my future.

Bart. He was my future now. Every day I got the opportunity to be the dad mine wasn't. To help Bart grow and show him the love his own parent's were never sure how to give. Bart was special, and sometimes taking care of special kids was difficult, as this morning illustrated. But I was willing to do the work to make him as happy as possible after the life he had to go through.

It got hard to show my love sometimes, especially to a sixteen year old as flighty and exuberant as Bart. He'd probably laugh his head off if he saw some of the stashed-away parenting books I'd been reading. What can I say? I'm a single 32-year old father now with a terrible perception of paternal upbringing. I need all the help I can get!

The 5 Love Languages for Teens was the title of the book that had likely helped me the most to understand the way Bart ticks. It offered insight on which love languages your child uses to express their love towards you and which languages they liked to receive most. I knew it sounded stupid and hokey, but it did help in a way. After a few days of observing, I discovered Bart liked to give words of affirmation (probably because he would never shut up in the first place) and spending quality time. In return though, he enjoyed receiving gifts (which worked out perfectly since that was one thing I could handle, though I had to remember not to spoil Bart rotten) and he liked touch.

I was actually surprised at first when I found out Bart liked touch, mainly because he put up this wall about himself that made him seem _untouchable_. Also, from the little he told me about his past, his home life with his parents had been less than savory when it came to "touching." But I could see it in his posture and expression every time we ended up lounging on the couch together, watching TV, and I wrapped my arm around his smaller form. Instinctively, he'd tense (a habit that I'd hope I could break sooner than later) but after a few minutes, he practically melt into me, his body greedy for the warmth.

A faint smile made its way to my face. I knew Bart thought it was embarrassing to wake up next to me but I loved every second of it. Yes, because for once, something made him speechless enough to make him timid, but also because it made us have a real connection. I could feel it and I knew Bart could too, despite his protests to the contrary.

"Let's watch Transformers next time, Ollie! I don't want to fall asleep during another boring film," I had nodded in reply, a smirk playing at my lips as I tried not to mention we were watching SAW, which wasn't exactly a movie most people fell asleep in.

I quickly swerved into the roundabout courtyard, passing over the executive parking structure and heading straight towards the glass-doored entrance. I wouldn't need to park since the meeting wasn't even taking place at Queen Towers. I was only here to do a pick up and I saw the American businessman in expensive suits and perfect hair already checking their watches impatiently, waiting for my arrival.

I tried not to grimace when I noticed the time. Thirty minutes late. Perfect. I braked right in front of them, rolling down my window to call the two men over.

"Gentlemen, I apologize for the hold up. Traffic was positively merciless."

They laughed at my slight quip, reassuring me it was fine although I knew I'd be burned for this later.

Nobody wasted the time of these men. Time was a precious commodity, a lesson that I was aware of at an early age. Being a CEO, leader of a small band of superheroes, and now a single father, there were literally not enough hours in the day.

The opened the doors and seated themselves in my car. Craig Keller, an older businessman probably in his mid-fifties with graying hair and a slight paunch, pulled out a piece of paper from underneath him and I hoped my face didn't redden at the sight of Bart's messy Calculus homework.

"Traffic held you up, you say?" Craig joked and David Lieberman, a younger technology CEO around my age with a winning smile and jet black hair, laughed along with the other man.

I took the stack from him with a smirk and stuffed it in the pocket where Bart's already melting candy bar was stashed. God, I was going to have to teach that kid how to clean up after himself. "Yeah, my kid Bart. His head's been in the clouds lately."

I started the engine and began driving toward our destination, a fancy patio eatery where the nicest brunch in Metropolis was served. An unusual silence filled the luxury car, but already I knew the cause of it was the mention of my surrogate son. Frankly, I was surprised I had even mentioned him. I never talked about him to anyone, not family, not colleagues and definitely not tabloids that were thankfully decreasing their interest about Bart and his recent adoption.

"How is young Bartholomew?" Craig asked, a hint of his British upbringing slipping in his pronunciation of Bart's full name.

"Pretty good. Though I think he'd be pretty irritated to know people were calling him by that name," I cajoled, earning another laugh from Lieberman in the backseat.

"I've got two boys myself, twins and they're four years old." the Brooklyn-Native David explained good-naturedly. "Kinda excited to see what it'll be like when they're old enough to be drinking and dating. Are you going through that with Bart now?"

_Excited _was the last word I would use to describe my anxiety towards Bart's potential party life. Memories of my crazy nights and painful mornings assaulted my mind. If I could have my way, Bart would never get a chance to experience drinking and going out until odd hours of the morning. But, it was hard to keep the fastest kid alive away from something for too long. With a shrug, I replied, "Thankfully, not at the moment and hopefully not for awhile."

"Right, I getcha," Lieberman said in his thick New York accent, pausing. "So how's it been working out with you twos since the adoption?"

I shifted a bit in my seat, taking a chance to clear my throat. I honestly didn't trust these men enough to divulge that tidbit of information. I knew they had better things to do with their time and money than to blab about my private life to the paparazzi, but there was still a risk fact involved. The Justice League, including Clark, Chloe, and Lois, continued to be the only people I sought out for parenting advice on Bart. They were my inner-circle and they had proved time and time again that they could be counted on.

Glancing at my rearview mirror to Lieberman, I offered him a commiserating grin and vague answer before quickly changing the subject to our business deal. By then we had already arrived at the restaurant, and after we were seated, the rest of the time was thankfully spent discussing nothing but business.

XxxxXXXxxxX

A/N: So, yeah, that's basically the way I'm heading with this story. A lot of Ollie's POV although there'll be some chapters with Bart's. Hope to be done with this fic by summer's end. Hold me to it! Review. :P


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okie doke, chapter number dos! I'm glad you guys are liking this. I don't really want to specify whose point of view it's going to be (that's lame). You're smart. I'll just assume you guys can figure it out. ;)

XxxxXXXxxxX

My office at Queen Towers was what I deemed "professionally comfortable." Having been in Lex's own office a few time, back when we though our companies could be a good fit for each other (oh, how times have changed…). Standing there, in all of its steel and jagged glory, I immediately noticed how hard it was for guests to get comfortable enough to sit down and talk easily. Then again, whenever one used words like "cold" and "dreary" to describe a room, it never boded well.

Thus, once I returned to the safety of my own office, I had already composed a list of words I wanted to feel when I got into my working space. The list was handed off to my interior designer, who begged me to be more specific to which I replied, "I trust you, Caroline. I know you'll get it right." Her smile had twitched and her usually perfect hair seemed to frizz out uncontrollably, but she got the job done. In the end, I was pleased with what she came up with (to her immense relief).

Sitting in my rolling chair, I typed endlessly away at email after email, trying to set the various department heads straight on where we were going as a company. My ears pricked up at the inconspicuous beep of the communicator in my desk drawer. Almost instantly, I craned my neck towards my door, calling my assistant in.

Devin, my "questionable" metro-sexual assistant, entered the office, wearing his hair in a complicated wave and his lean figure into a matching vest-pants combo. "Yes, sir?" Expectancy shown through the lenses of his thick-rimmed glasses.

"Put a hold on all appointments for the rest of today. I have to take this call."

"Of course, sir," he said with a nod, backing out of the room with a smile and closing the wooden door shut behind him.

"Talk to me, Cyborg," I said, using Victor Stone's, our resident tech-saavy human-robot hybrid, secret JLA alias.

"Hey, Arrow, AC and I have been here all morning and afternoon casing the area. Nothing seems to be out of the normal, but who knows? Maybe is Lex is saving the show for later tonight…" Vic trailed off, leaving me to my own conclusions.

"Maybe," I agreed thoughtfully. "Are you and Aqauman fine with staying there overnight to monitor the base for any strange happenings?" I asked.

Vic barked a laugh of amusement. "Should be more than fine with the digs AC got us. It's all Oceanside over here, bro!"

I chuckled along with him, happy they were at least having an enjoyable time. I suddenly flinched when my phone in my pocket vibrated against my thigh. I excused myself momentarily from the conversation as I fished the cell out of my pants pocket, lighting up the screen to read the message.

It wasn't a message though. It was an alert for Bart's PTA meeting. I groaned, feeling just like Bart in my ability to forget such an obvious appointment. When Vic asked what was wrong and I told him, I was met with an even louder bark of laughter.

"What do you think she'll wanna talk about?" Vic finally got to ask, trying hard to stifle his snickering.

"I don't know…" I said truthfully but continued. "I'm hoping something along the lines of 'Oh, Mr. Queen, Bart is such a joy to have in the classroom. Such a good student and he always does exactly what he's told!'"

"Haha… Seriously?"

I sighed heavily. "No." My frank reply only made him laugh louder.

Once he sobered up, he spoke again, "Okay, I'll see ya tomorrow, Arrow."

"Sure thing, Cy. Be safe and we'll recon in 0-800 hours." I told him.

"Copy that, Boss." The communicator gave a lower beep this time, signaling Vic had signed off. I gave a silent prayer that nothing too bad would come out of their solo mission. They were superheroes after all; they could handle almost anything!

I wish I could say the same thing about my meeting with Bart's teacher. Picking up the rest of my deskwork into my leather laptop bag, I checked my watch again, and with a heavy heart, realized I was probably going to be 30 minutes late for the 6pm appointment. Great, now Bart and me were really going to seem like father and son.

XxxxXXXxxxX

After checking with the school's receptionist about where Ms. Morby's classroom was, I skidded to a halt in front of the dark wooden door. I peered through the glass window on the door and spotted a short Caucasian women with knee length blond hair and big hazel eyes.

My own eyes glances furtively to the clock on the wall which read in a judgmental manner that I was now 40 minutes late. I shut my eyes tightly then opened them, surprised to see Ms. Morby casting me weird looks. I gave her a sheepish smile and a nod, awkwardly entering the room.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about ohw stupoid I must look coming to our meeting so late…" I told her, hoping I sounded charming despite the faint blush I felt on my cheeks.

She smiled a wide girn that had two pronounced front teeth overlapping her bottom lip. "That's quite all right, Mr. Queen. The receptionist was able to deliver your message about your delay." She nodded in affirmation, signaling me towards one of the desks in front of her own. I gave a small chuckle, choosing to seat atop the desk instead of in it (knowing there was no way my 6'3 frame could fit in that thing!)

Ms. Morby's brow knitted together at the sight of my position, but when she caught my eye, she smiled brighter again.

"Soo…" I started, rubbing my hands together. I felt uncomfortable being the person in front of the desk since I usually sat behind it. I watched the woman as she took a file out of her drawer and settled herself in the cloth-backed, office chair. "Am I correct to assume this meeting is about Bart, Ms. Morby?"

"Ha, please call me Denise, only the students call me Ms. Morby. And actually, most of these little meetings turn out to be a lot about the parents and not the students."

I nodded, suddenly more nervous that this wasn't about Bart's progress as a student but mine as a parent. Just what I needed: a report card on my ability to raise a teenager. I stared as Denise openeded up the file with Bart's name on the tab sticking out of it. My eyes cautiously scanned over the various notes, profiles, and homework assignments ticked inside. I couldn't recall them being so detailed when I used to go to school here.

Denise must have caught my anxious expression because she laughed yet again, something I would learn was a habit of hers. "Mr. Queen, you needn't worry so much. I'm just here to give you an update on your child's progress, then give you some advice for home.

I sighed slightly in relief then nodded in understanding. "That sounds better."

She took out a piece of paper and got started on telling me his grades so far in each class. "And I hate to say this, even though he's doing above average in most of his courses, my class is the only one he seems to do badly in."

I knew this was a bad question but I asked it anyway, "What class is that?"

"English." She stated, disappointment shining in her eyes as if I should have known. Well, it wasn't as if she had "English teacher" pasted to the front of her forehead. Though once I looked around, I did see a few posters of Shakespeare and transitional words on the walls. "Bart hasn't talked about this with you?"

"No, should he have?" I knew from experience that Bart could handle himself. I mean, he had lived on the streets for awhile before I found him. Aside from telling me which girls he thought were cute and what weird entrée the lunch ladies made him eat that day, school wasn't a topic he usually brought up.

Her head tilted to the side, looking more confused than usual. "Every time a student gets below a C- on their assignments, they have to get it signed by their parent or guardian… Bart's brought in signed copies of his test before." She trailed off and I immediately knew what conclusion she was about to gather so I hurriedly cut in.

"OH THOSE TESTS!" I said, in mock triumph. I inwardly cringed at how stupid I sounded, yelling the statement as if it were the greatest discovery since gravity. "Right, yes, I remember signing those now. Sorry, I spaced a little."

" Good." Ms. Morby said, looking equally relieved. "Then we won't have any problems there. And here, I drew up a study plan for you and Bart to go over at home."

I took the hefty stack of papers from her, skimming over its contents. I turned my head up to nod my thanks. "This should help a lot."

I was going to murder that kid when I got home.

XxxxXXXxxxX

I beeped the alarm to my car, announcing it was on before tiredly hanging the keys. I had been seething the whole drive here. I had to make a drive by the office and ended up staying longer than expected due to an impromptu meeting with one of my higher-up associates. I realized the time (9pm) and forcefully bid him farewell. Now that I was home, I had only grown grumpier thinking about my charge's deceit.

When I walked into the house, I could hear the TV playing in the living room and quickly remembered that Bart had made a habit of hanging out downstairs to wait up for me when I got home from work. At first, I thought the sentiment was thoughtful, almost endearing, but as time went on (and sometimes I got home late) seeing Bart half-asleep on the couch with a three packs of Oreos as his dinner only made me irritated.

As I plodded into the living room, I found Bart texting one of his friends on his cellphone. When he saw me come in, he smiled broadly, looking like he wanted to tell me something but then stopped when he saw the look on my face. I walked over to the coffee table, for the moment ignoring him, and switched off the TV with one of the remotes on the table. I turned to Bart who was looking at me with a confused expression, obviously unsure of why I was so serious. Unceremoniously, I dropped the stack of test on the table and his eyes widened in recognition.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Batholomew?" I don't know why I had the habit of calling him by his full name whenever he was in trouble; it must've been a parental thing because my mom had done it as well.

Bart winced at the use of his full name. He knew he was in trouble, and the looming look of those papers on the table told him all he needed to know. He chanced a glance up at me, looking guilt-stricken.

"I know what you're going to say..." he began, looking at me as a wary prey would look at a predatory lion.

I didn't give him the chance to carry on though, cutting in with a snippy, "Then please explain to me, if you know so much about what I'm going to say, what would possess you to ever forge my signature!"

Okay, the not-exploding on him route had obviously flown out the window, leaving me with nothing but anger at the young man currently trying to sink into the corner of the couch.

He looked down, the hair falling into his ashamed face. I could tell he was disappointed in himself and my seething wasn't making the weight of his guilt any lighter. "I didnt have a choice-"

I rubbed a hand through my moused up, blonde hair, scoffing. "Please, Bart. Spare me the dramatics. There is _always_ a choice-!"

"NOT WHEN YOU'RE NEVER AROUND!" he cried and I could see tears quickly building over the edge of his eyes, threatening to spill over.

And suddenly the Guilt Weight had shifted from his shoulders and into the pit of my gut. To see my ward, my son, weeping from pain I had caused him, it was almost too much to handle. And all because I was an absent father, not even there to sign a stupid sheet of paper and scold him for not studying.

Oh, but I was definitely there when the news affected me. I was there to tongue thrash him when the going got tough, and the news could seemingly affect my status, my dear reputation as Metropolis' most affluent bachelor.

Was I really turning into my own father?

I sat down next to Bart, whose body shifted, if possible, even further into the cushions on the other side of the couch. "What am I going to do?" I asked to no one in particular, so caught up in my own thoughts.

Bart sniffed noisily from his crying, saying in a quiet voice, "I'm really sorry, Ollie. I mean, you can always ground me forever like when I crashed into an entire parade..." He winced, obviously remembering it wasn't a good idea to remind people of bad things you did when in the process of being punished.

I turned to him as if he had just landed in from Mars. "What? No, I'm not about that anymore." Evenm though his face was red and slightly tear stained, he found the resolve to look relieved at that statement. "You still should've told me though, Bart."

Again, his eyes turned down to his lap. "I wanted to, but I knew you'd get mad... That or lecture me for an hour."

I smiled a little, despite my inner-turmoil; Bart was good at making people forget their troubles. "Well, I can't say I'll never lecture you again, but I want you to know, that I'm going to try to talk to you first instead of flying off the handle."

The young man nodded, "Anything to keep the forehead wrinkle from forming, I getcha." We laughed at his jab at how old I was turning (which is not true!) and settled down for a movie. Bart insisted on Transformers, but not thirty minutes later he had dozed off onto my shoulder, proving that it didn't matter what movie it was, I was always going to be the most functional pillow.

I smiled down at the boy, enjoying the peaceful look on his face that made him look so young and vulnerable, so in need of protection. I sometimes hated to think about all the dangers we faced out in the field sometime. I know Bart would never have staying behind though. He could be so hard-headed sometimes. But, right now, he was Bart, my son and family. I pulled him closer to me, making him more comfortable, and watched Megatron blast the top of a building clear off.

At least we didn't have anything like _that_ happening in Metropolis…

XxxxXXXxxxX

**A/N:** There's the second chapter. Please send me a review; it's been wonderful to hear from you all again (and you new readers, too, you're just delightful!). :D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Eee! You guys make me so happy. Here's the next chapter. Thanks for reading!

XxxxXXXxxxX

"I don't understand why Lex would be creating a laser that could wipe the whole cityscape clean off!" I exclaimed, throwing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. The entire Justice Team, including Clark who had grown bored from the monotony of Smallville (yeah, I didn't believe it either), were all gathered in Cyborg's living quarters which reminded me of the set of Star Trek. "It actually sounds kind of cool..."

Clark and Ollie sent me simultaneous disproving Looks, and I shrugged. What? It was!

"Regardless of how 'cool' you think it is, it needs to be destroyed," Ollie said, walking over to me from his position against Victor's control panel and extracting the bag of greasy popcorn from my grasp. I groaned, acting as if I'd starve if I didn't get another bite. That's what I felt like though! Ollie's ridiculous diet was making my stomach churn in misery and I was pretty sure I was getting a rash from the lack of complex carbs.

"Okay, I get it. Just another mash up job. How're we hoping to accomplish that?" I asked, looking to Ollie expectantly, who usually had some sort of plan brewing.

There was an awkward silence among the team and I was suddenly overcome with the thought that I was out of the loop. I turned quizzical eyes to each member but they refused to look me in the eye. Finally, after a few more minutes, my guardian took a deep breath before speaking. "Not you, just us," Ollie corrected me and my mind did a complete 360 at the statement. Since when was it ever "just them"?

"Come again?" I asked, a heat slowly building up in my face.

"Guys, can I speak to Bart alone for a second, please?" Ollie said to our fellow teammates who hurried out of the room, despite it being Victor's, in preparation of my and Ollie's latest argument session.

Once the door closed in privacy, I turned my scowling face to Oliver, trying to contain my anger. If this had anything to do with my maturity against the team's (which it usually was), I didn't want to give him any leverage by throwing a tantrum. "Oliver, since when does the Justice League operate without a member?"

"Well, how about when one of its members has finals coming up?" He narrowed his gaze to meet my guilty one. How did he even know about that? Oh right, I forgot about that darn PTA meeting. He'd become so paranoid since then! "Yes, I got your syllabus from your teacher. You can stop wondering now."

"But Ollieeee," I whined, throwing maturity to the wind. Yeah it was often the first thing to go, too. "You let me take down that meteorite freak that was ruining the power lines when midterms were going on."

Okay, maybe that statement did more harm than good as I watched Ollie give me one of his tight-lipped grimaces. "That's because I didn't know you _had_ midterms. If I did, I would have had you focusing more on your studies back then as well."

"This sucks," I said, flopping heavily down in the suede blue couch with a partial pout on my face. But I still wasn't going to give up that easily. "C'mon, Ollie, I'm sure the mission wouldn't even be that long. I mean, hello, fastest kid alive here."

Ollie sat down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulder. I tried to ignore how comforting and safe I felt every time he did that. It was slowly becoming another route for him to manipulate me through. I turned my body away from him, as he tried to soothe my irritation. "Look, I swear, once you get these tests done, you'll be free to do whatever missions you want. School's out in less than two weeks now. I just want you to be prepared."

I harrumphed, unable to see his logic. "Can't I just have one last, brain-stimulating harrah before I enter total study mode?"

"I'm sorry, Bart, but no means no." Ollie said finally, giving me one last gentle squeeze. "Now, start getting ready for bed. You've got school tomorrow."

I laid my head back on the couch in exasperation. "It's not even 9 o'clock yet though! Since when did my education become a bigger deal than the fate of mankind?"

"Since your grades started slipping and you resorted to forging signatures to cover up your failed exams," He reminded me, causing my insides to clench with guilt. Ollie ruffled my hair reassuringly though when he saw my shamefaced expression. "But since that's in the past now, I want you to get some rest because you're not looking too hot."

At this, my gaze retreated to my lap. Dang, I thought I'd been doing a pretty good job at hiding my fatigue these last few days. Then again, it was hard to get anything past the skilled archer's eyes. I turned my head into Ollie's chest, my voice muffled and annoyed, "Oh c'mon, Ollie! I don't even feel that bad."

"But you are looking under the weather, Bart, and I don't want you aggravating a virus by staying up too late," Ollie told me in his most fatherly tone. I hated when he used that stern/concerned voice. It always made me feel guilty even if I hadn't done something necessarily wrong.

Then, an idea hit me. If I could get to bed early, I might have a chance to contribute to the mission after all… And without Ollie finding out! Two bird with one stone, in my book! Oliver would get off my back about staying up late, and I could help the guys out with destroying the weapon. Perfect.

I yawned, in what I hoped made me seem genuinely tired, uncovering my face from Ollie's dress shirt. "You know what, you're totally right. I wouldn't wanna be sick for finals!"

Ollie rolled his eyes, "Well, there's no need to be sarcastic."

I cringed inwardly. That wasn't sarcasm; it was acting. Apparently crappy acting at that. In either case, Ollie helped me up and guided me towards my bedroom.

"Here, get ready, I'll be in there in a second," he told me. I felt a little uncomfortable that Ollie was going to take the time to see me off to bed, when I was just going to race off to Lex's newest hideout the moment he turned his head.

Other than point this out to him, I complied, shutting the large wooden door behind me in order to get in the shower, brush my teeth, and change into my plaid pajama bottoms and red shirt. I did this all with my superspeed set on low so by the time I was getting into bed, Ollie entered the room with a glass of water and some pills in his hand.

I blinked at him, trying to rid the dizziness from my vision. The use of my ability, though negligible, had aggravated the slight sickness that had been bothering me the past few days, causing my head to swim and my stomach to churn.

Ollie sat on the edge of my bed, hurriedly placing the medicinal implements on the night stand to rest his cooled hand on my forehead. "Whoa, hey, you're looking pretty pale there, little man."

I leant a little into his touch, but backed up a bit when I realized I was supposed to be convincing him I wasn't sick. "No, I'm feeling fine. Honest."

Ollie smirked, dropping his hand to proffer me the ibuprofen and water. I downed both silently, hoping the pill hadn't really been some PM meds that would put me to sleep. I really had to be awake if I was going to get this. "I guess it's a good thing that you're going to bed earlier. This virus should be all cleared up by tomorrow."

I nodded, twiddling with the threads sticking out of my pajama pants. Peripherally, I could see Ollie giving me one of those searching expressions, where it was plain to see just what he was thinking: "What's wrong?"

It was so predictable; I was almost surprised to hear it actually come out of his mouth. I gaped a little as I turned to him, but then quickly switched my gaze into another direction. "Nothing. You're right. I'm just not feeling well."

"You sure, buddy?" Ollie enquired, tilting his head to meet my eyes. I looked up at him and nodded. "All right…"

He seemed suspicious though, and my melancholic expression probably wasn't helping matters. But what did he know? He had never seen me sick before. As far as he knew, I got really silent and guilt-faced when I didn't feel well.

I still sighed a shuddering breath, the weight of what I was going to do battling against my desire to just tell Ollie the truth of how I was feeling. How I really was a bit ill but I still wanted to be included and reassured as a member of the team. Because lately I had felt all but that.

I felt like a little kid. Somebody that needed to be protected by the JLA but not a part of it.

But as I opened my mouth to actually say something, it was apparent that the conversation wasn't going to happen. Ollie was already pulling back the thick, heavy covers, waiting for me to slip underneath them.

I scowled at him, for reals this time, "I don't need to be tucked in."

"Well, humor me for a night." He wore a small smirk and his eyes shone with affection. I just rolled my eyes at my guardian and climbed underneath them. Once I had settled my head into the luxurious pillow, Ollie lightly lowered the covers over me and smoothed the slightly damp bangs out of eyes. "Feel better tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll get right on that, Oll-man," I yawned, blearily shutting my eyes. I squinted them open ever-so slightly to watch him smile down at me, shut off the light, and leave the room.

The moment he was out of the room, I listened for a little while for his retreating noises. His room was right across the hall from mine (It used to be on the first floor with AC's, but he switched it after the adoption.) so I was able to hear him close his door.

Although I knew Ollie was now securely locked up in his room, I knew he'd spend at least the next 4 hours typing away on his laptop for some "big project at work." At least, that was what he told me every time I requested we go out for ice cream at odd hours of the night.

Oh great, now I wanted ice cream, hm, but which flavor...

Focus, Bart, I reprimanded myself. I half-heartedly realized I was still resting snuggly on my bed and was just about to doze off into dream land. At superspeed, I rushed out of bed and into my Impulse uniform. As I adjusted my red wristwatch in place, I poked my head out the door. Now for the most complicated part, stealing the details of the mission so I would know where to go.

I knew the first place to start would be Oliver's office, which fortunately was on the first floor, but unfortunately, was right next to the guest room Clark was occupying. As I sped down the stairs, I halted inconspicuously alongside the wall, peeking my head over the edge to watch for any signs of the Boyscout.

Seeing no sign of him, I ran into the office and scoured the desk and computer for the briefing. With a satisfied smile, I discovered it was on the secured database of the JLA shared drive. I stopped beaming as I realized the transfer from the computer to my handheld wasn't exactly as lightning speed as I was. I anxiously drummed my fingers on the cherry wood desk, flicking my eyes up to watch the door to Ollie's office.

My heart almost jumped out of my mouth when I saw the door knob jiggling. "Ollie, is that you in there?" I heard Clark calling on the other side. Not good. Not good. He knew someone was in here. Damn his super hearing! In a blink of the eye, I had changed back into my pajama and tried to look like I was unassumingly reading a book in the plush armchair.

Clark opened the door, and, upon spotting me just sitting there, frowned in bewilderment. "Bart? I thought Ollie already put you to sleep."

I tried to stifle the indignant spark in me at his words. "Put me to sleep"? Was he joking? Instead of flying off the handle, I continued to try and casually read the book in my hands. What was this thing anyway? I read the top of the page, "Raising a Troubled Teen." Greeeeaaat. This must've been where Ollie was getting his entire weird parental BS. "Nope, I'm just down here, reading."

Clark was beginning to approach me with the same worried look in his eyes. "Are you sure? You sound a little winded."

I suddenly held my breath at his comment. Oh my god, he was right! Since when did I get winded from using my super speed? This was a little bit off. Clark evidently took my expression as someone that was genuinely shocked and walked over to usher me out of the study.

He guided me all the way back upstairs and I was momentarily happy when he had me get back into bed. It was suddenly very soft and comfortable underneath my fatigued body. I supposed I should've been concerned with the fact that my body was reacting this way every time I used my ability, but right then, my biggest concern was making sure Clark was finally out of ear shot and my handheld device with Lex's weapon coordinates was still tucked in the pocket of my pajamas.

He and it were finally out of the way, and I amused myself in thinking that getting the coordinates would actually turn out to be harder than destroying the laser itself.

Oh, how wrong I was…

XxxxXXXxxxX

A/N: Sorry it's so short. More next chapter! Thanks for reading; be sure to review, lovies!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Hey doods, I hope you're enjoying the story thus far. If not, too bad! No, just kidding. Gimme some feedback and maybe you'll start to see it in fuuuture chapters. :D

XxxxXXXxxxX

I returned home from my morning workout (which included a run through my booby-trapped backyard and a swim through a pirhanna-infested pool) to some noise coming from the bathroom of my master bedroom.

While toweling off the sweat from the nape of my neck and cropped blonde hair, I casually poked my head inside and found Bart climbing on top of the counters, trying to retrieve something from the highest shelves. Knowing he hated it when I helped him get stuff hard to reach places ("Oh, look at you, Mr. Tall-man." Not the best taunt in the world…), I decided to ignore his efforts and sit myself on the bed to remove the rest of my workout gear.

"What do ya got there, buddy?" I asked, concentrating on untying the knots in my shoelaces as Bart entered the room.

"Issh juss smme… Aspin…" My head bolted upright at the boy's slurred words. With my hand, I beckoned him to me, but when he didn't register my signal, I immediately pulled him front of me so we were at eye-level.

"Bart… What's wro- Bart!" His drooping eyes widened a bit at my assertive tone. Just as I suspected, they were glazed and bloodshot with fever. I touched my hand to his head and recoiled at the heat. "My God, you're burning up. How did this happen? ….Clark!"

"'msorryyy, Oll-…" I was thankful my arms were tightly gripping his forearms as he fell towards the floor between my legs. I hoisted him to sit on my lap and began slapping him lightly but frantically on the cheeks.

"No, wake up, come on, buddy. Open your eyes for me." All of it was to no avail though. Bart simply slumped forward against my chest, completely still, which I'm sure would've been a pleasant sight to greet Clark with had it not been for the horror-stricken expression on my face.

"What's wrong with Bart?" Clark asked, and AC and Vic were trailing close behind him, dressed in their hero attire, obviously prepped for the morning's mission.

"We're cancelling today's mission-" I began, rising with the unconscious Bart in my arms and a no-nonsense look on my face.

"Because someone already beat us to it?" AC responded, and my head snapped in his direction.

"What? No, because we gotta take Bart to the hospital." I corrected him forcefully, gesturing to the small load in my arms. I still couldn't shake what he had just said though, thus interrogated further. "But what do you someone beat us to the mission?"

AC seemed reluctant to speak now under the pressure of my intense gaze, so Vic spoke up. "It's all over the media waves. Someone was able to rocket Lex's laser into the Indian Ocean. They think it was some sort of freak cyclone."

"How is that possible? That can't be the case." Clark regarded Victor with the utmost uncertaintly. "We were the only ones that knew-"

He trailed off and his eyes suddenly stopped on me… Or, to be exact, the boy I was carrying. At first I was confused, but then the revelation finally clicked in my own head. Did Bart really do such a thing? I shook my head. This was definitely not the time. Whatever was going on with him didn't diffuse the fact that my ward was unwell or that I needed to get him better.

Without anymore interest in the conversation, I hardened my resolve and began making my way out the bedroom doors.

"Wait, Ollie, what are you going to do?" AC asked, the three other JLA members rushing after me.

I didn't bother turning as I walked towards the house's 10 car garage. "What do you think? I'm getting help for my son."

XxxxXXXxxxX

The sights and sounds were like vague dream that I would learn later were actually real. I remembered being carried into the hospital, getting changed out of my clothes, and a bunch of other little things. All the while, Ollie's worried gaze was a perpetual presence in the back of my mind, and it made me sad to know I was worrying him so much.

Of course, all of these emotions didn't mean squat, when I finally regained total consciousness, it was because I was currently being lowered into the coldest water I'd ever have to endure.

"What the f-fu-" Even in my fevered and panicked state, I caught sight of Ollie giving me a disproving look behind the meaty shoulder of the orderly helping me in the tub. "Fudge."

Realizing that the water had helped me regain my alertness, Ollie hurried to my side. I was weakly struggling against the nurse and groggily protesting the water as it permeated through my heated skin. Ollie laid a gentle hand on the back of my head to get my attention, whispering soothing words in my ear.

Though this calmed me, I couldn't rid myself of the dreadful shivers that were racking my entire frame. I sat there in the tub for much too long, my only comfort being Ollie's hand massaging my hair in a less-than-effective way of warming me up. My body had turned numb. I was positive I was on the verge of turning into a human popsicle or at least getting some form of frost bite that would force them to amputate my appendages, when the doctor entered the room, slapping some exam gloves on his hands.

I cowered into the corner of the solid metal tub, trying to sink into Ollie for protection. He murmured a soft, "You're okay. I got you." Before looking up to greet the doctor.

"You're awake, Bart, that's good," he said to me, leaning down to flash his light in my eyes. He gave a skeptical frown; it appeared that my eyes weren't doing what they were supposed to. He replaced the penlight into his coat pocket and removed the thermometer, sticking a new plastic covering on the end.

In my delirium, I began to resist the device as he brought it closer to my mouth, but Ollie held me in place, allowing the doctor to do his job. He held it there for thirty seconds, all the while with me trying to fight against Oliver's arm that was wrapped securely around my shoulder.

When the doctor removed it, he seemed somewhat satisfied at the reading, to my immense relief. "101.8. That's not too bad. Not good. But he should at least be ready to leave the ice bath."

Ollie nodded and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he lifted me out. He shooed away the intimidating orderly that approached us, and walked me over to the hospital bed, wrapping me up in a huge towel while I sat there, my teeth chattering and my frame shaking uncontrollably. At least they had the decency to leave me my shorts on before trying to drown me in the Arctic, otherwise I would've been pretty embarrassed to be sitting there naked in front of the three men in the room, even if Ollie was with me.

The doctor, a tall, graying man probably in his early forties, approached me, and I whimpered a little as he removed the towel to get a better view of my torso. "The fever is very worrisome but the bruising on his torso is also unnerving. Any idea where he's gotten those?"

The question was obviously directed at Ollie as I was supposed to still be bordering on comatose, hell, I felt like it! But I couldn't help feeling a bit affronted at being treated like I wasn't there. Then again, from the way Ollie's stance had straightened into a tense posture, I should probably be thankful they weren't acknowledging me. I definitely wasn't ready to talk about what happened last night.

"He's been getting into some scuffs at school. You know boys..." Though I was fighting hard to stay awake and only vaguely hearing the conversation between the two men, I could still hear the doctor's disproving cluck. "Look, I'll talk to him about it later. Right now I want to know what time can I take him home."

Already I could tell that Ollie wasn't getting on physician's good side, but I was at least glad he was planning on getting me out of here. I hated hospitals with a passion. Yes, I was terrified of what Ollie would want to know once I was well, but not as much as being strung up on drugs and being given sponge baths from strange nurses. I shuddered, which didn't really look that different from the shivering I was doing.

"Once we wrap up the wounds, he can be discharged tomorrow. He'll have to be on complete bedrest though until the fever breaks. And perhaps avoid any strenuous activities for two months for the ribs to heal. I'll prescribe him-" I sort of zoned out after that. My mind had become fixated on the "no strenuous activity" clause. I mean, how did he really expect a 16-year-old boy to manage no strenuous activity for not one, but TWO months. I nearly fainted from thinking about sheer boredom.

Surely Ollie would ignore such cruel stipulations. I'm sure he'd understand why I couldn't just stop being the fastest boy alive for close to 60 days!

XxxxXXXxxxX

"I want you to sleep in here just in case you need anything," Oliver instructed me. I just stared silently ahead, gazing at the room before me. Obviously the uncharacteristic silence didn't comfort my guardian and he leaned over slightly to check my temperature for the fortieth time with his hand. "Bart, did you hear me? Do you need to lie down? C'mon, get in bed."

I belatedly processed him helping me in the expansive bed as I finally found my voice, "Ollie... This is your room."

He nodded, not really looking at me and instead untying my shoes. "Yeah, it's just temporary until you're well enough to be on your own."

"I'm well enough now." I shot back, feeling frustrated that he wouldn't trust me with even a few feet of distance away from him. "I don't need you babying me every five seconds."

"Well, obviously you do because you lack the maturity to tell me when you're going to rush out of this house and almost get yourself killed trying to single-handedly displace weapons of mass destruction!" His breathing became heavy as he looked down at me with an expression mixed of anger, disappointment and... fear? I just stared at him, wide-eyed. He turned his head to the ground, before speaking, "We're not getting into this now, not when you're feeling like this. Just go to sleep."

I slowly lowered my head onto the pillow, feeling the pain and guilt overtake me from his words. My lip quivered a bit, but I shut my eyes tightly, refusing to cry. As I curled myself into a ball, I fell into a fitful sleep, my body screaming at me in pain. As stupid as it may sound, but at that moment, my only wish was to find a way to run away from myself.

XxxxXXXxxxX

The restrained mews of anguish quickly grappled my attention, and I was out of the armchair, placing my laptop aside, rushing to Bart's side in seconds. I placed a hand on his head, and breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't running a crazy high fever. But he was still squirming and whining uncontrollably; obviously the fever was still causing him a great deal of nightmares.

I did the only thing I could think of and started trying to rouse the young man, "Bart, Bart- wake up; c'mon, that's it."

Bart's eyes, wild with fever, shot open and searched his surroundings haphhazardly. When they landed on me, he paled as white as a sheet. "No, please, 'msorry. Please don't hurt me..."

I could hear the sound of my heart breaking, smashing into a million pieces. Bart was my son, yet here he was, cowering at the very sight of me. I could only imagine the kind of nightmare he was having after the blow-up I served him just hours before. "It's okay, little man. I'm not going to hurt you."

I began to approach the shaken boy, who seemed almost feral with fear. He cried out as I reached a hand towards him and, in an instant, Clark was crashing down my door.

Both Bart and my eyes darted over to the sudden disruption. Clark was breathing heavily, his hooded eyes searching the room for trouble. He finally eyed the two of us on the bed, paying special attention to the uncharacteristically tremulous expression on Bart's face. "What's going on?"

"Nothing is wrong, Clark," I said, a bit irritated at the accusation in his tone.

"Clark! Please, help me! Clark, help!" Bart was desperately pleading with Boyscout, his small frame backed so far against the wall it looked like he would crash right through it. Clark obviously didn't need anymore encouragement as he rushed over, taking the frightened boy in his arms.

The action seemed to calm Bart considerably, and Clark watched him with a quizzical look on his face. He must've have spotted the bit of unruliness in the boy's eyes because he turned to me, asking, "What's gotten into him? Why is he acting like that towards you?"

I was hopeless for an answer. "I wish I knew. His fever hasn't gotten any worse; he must be having some sort of conscious night terror."

"Has anything like this happened before?" Clark asked, looking down at Bart's unruly mop of hair resting on his broad shoulder. The flushed boy had fallen back into a hopefully dreamless sleep now that he knew he was safe. A tinge of jealousy and wave of powerlessness overwhelmed me. How had I become this monster in his sight?

"Back when Lex had captured him, he had a nightmares for a night or two, but none that were this bad..." I turned away, wiping a hand over my itching eyes. "It's my fault. I was yelling at him for the hospital and now... He hates me, Clark. I'm supposed to be his damn guardian and I can't even do that right!"

I laid my head against the bed frame, feeling Clark deflate the other side of the bed with the weight of Bart's body. "He doesn't hate you. If anything, you've shown him more love and kindness than anyone else in his life."

I looked up to see Clark laying the duvet atop Bart's shoulders, brushing a hand across his forehead to move the hair from his eyes. The boy's features relaxed at the tender touch, and I smirked a bit at how predictable Bart could be. Ironic that his name was Impulse.

My fingers yearned to do the same, but I was afraid of what adverse reactions that would cause. "Yes, but, how am I supposed to know what to do? He doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual."

Clark looked fondly down at the now peaceful young superhero, nestled in the folds of my enormous bed. "You knew what you were getting into when you adopted him. Trust me, if anyone has what it takes to help him, it's you, Oliver."

I looked at Clark, easily finding the sincerity from his words. Still, the niggling feelings of guilt were eating at my insides.

XxxxXXXxxxX

**A/N:** Aww, Ollie's feeling guilty? Ehh, what else is new? Oh wait, I wrote that! I, uhh, mean, this is the best story ever with truly complex material. Anyway, that's just my opinion. Let me hear yours. Drop me a review!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Here's chapter 5. Hope you guys enjoy! Leave a review if you care about me! :D

XxxxXXXxxxX

Please, somebody, anybody, I beg of you to turn off that jackhammer. My head was pulsating and the sheets had gotten tangled between my legs. I rubbed my eyes and observed the massive bed I was in. The green sheets were indication enough for me to realize that it was Ollie.

I tried to ignore the pang of sadness in my stomach at the thought of him. I'd let him down, again. I had a hard time believing his absence from his own bedroom was anything but a coincidence. He probably couldn't bear to look at me anymore after all the crap I'd put him through.

The doorknob jiggled. I sat up a little, cringing at the jilt of pain that shot through my skull at the action. When the door finally opened, a long-legged, brunette young woman strolled in place of who I thought would be Oliver.

"Oh! Harper!" I exclaimed, a little surprised at the girl, who was about my age, barging into the room unnanounced. I looked down at myself, forgetting if I was decent or not. Beige pajamas with cowboys on them. Not utterly embarrassing, but not exactly "cool" either.

"Hey there, cuz," she replied, a smile playing on her delicate and tanned features. "Came to see how you were feeling."

Let's see, my muscles ached, my head was throbbing, and I still felt the fever hovering over my skin, but I tried to play it off a bit. "I'm all right. Thanks for checking in. Did you see AC yet?"

I only asked because she was his cousin or something like that. Either way, we let her into our super-secret "Justice League headquarters" at fishboy's recommendation.

"Yeah, he got all weird about me dropping by. I swear, I don't know what's with that guy; he acts as if you guys have the biggest secret in the world. It's not like you guys are stashing anything expensive." She said, looking at her nails.

"Still, we're trying to keep a low-profile," A deep voice broke in, causing Harper and I to look up a little surprised at the sudden intrusion. Oliver smirked at her. "We appreciate your cooperation."

I couldn't help glancing over at Harper's face melting at the sight of Oliver. She had a thing for my guardian ever since she'd gotten here. Yeah, it was a little weird and made my already nauseous stomach turn a little more. Sometimes Harper played the devil-may-care card a little too extensively and didn't really take into account the illegality such a relationship would cause.

"Oliver!" Harper crooned. "How lovely it is to see you. I'm just checking on little Bart here."

I cast her a dark glare at the word "little", but she seemed not to notice. Ollie, on the other hand, switched his attention from the large chest of drawers on the other side of the room to me. He was giving me a strange look, and I didn't exactly know what to make of it.

"You don't look well," Oliver told me, without a question in his voice. I frowned at the statement. Gee, thanks for asking. I knew precisely what would follow such a statement. "I want you to stay in bed until I get back. You need to rest."

Ah, there was the kicker. I knew arguing would get me nowhere, but the phrase "until I get back" piqued my interest. "Back from where?" My eyes searched the contents he had pulled from the top desk drawer. Communicator, sunglassed, voice modulator. I looked up at him. "You're going on a mission? Without me?"

"Bart, now is not the time for you to be concerned with this stuff, all right? You're sick, and you'll do as I say. And I say, you're not coming." Oliver punctuated each word with scary emphasis that even made Harper tense up. Not me though, if anything, his forbidding only made me more resolved to go.

An irritated scowl on my face, I immediately got out of the bed with every intention to superspeed over to him and give him a piece of my mind. Instead, my lame attempt caused me to trip on the rug and face plant onto the hardwood floor. "What the hell?"

Ollie was at my side in an instant, helping me up and leading me back over to the bed. I tried with all my might to wrangle myself free from his grasp but he was too strong.

"No, stop. I can't superspeed! Ollie!" I was becoming desperate and my voice cracked from the stress.

Sensing my extreme anxiety, Oliver knelt down to my eye level. "What's wrong? Why are you acting like this?"

The feelings of frustration were bubbling underneath my surface. I hated when he acted like listening to my problems were such a chore, like I was some deranged child while he was the level-headed adult. How did it get like this…

I turned my face to the floor, unable to look at him without getting angry. "My ability… It's not working."

Oliver straightened again. "Bart, I don't know what the problem really is, but you do need to get some rest. Maybe you'll start feeling better after a nap."

"Fine…" I sighed, realizing anything I said would just be deflected by another plea for me to "get some rest." I climbed back into bed and Oliver readjusted the covers. He ruffled my hair, looking down at me with warmth in his eyes.

"I just want you to feel better. We'll talk this evening." Oliver said and turned, giving Harper a stern look. "Don't keep him up too long, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Harper said with her winning smile, giving Oliver the once over as he made his way out of the room. After he left, she spoke again, this time in my direction, "Wow, that was quite a scene…"

I quirked an eyebrow at her. My brain was having a hard time focusing on whatever she was blabbering about since my ability seemed to be on the fritz. "What are you talking about?"

"You're telling me that 'little obedient son' exchange has become a usual occurence?" She asked, looking unimpressed.

"I wasn't being a little obedient son-" I countered indignantly, but the brunette seemed indifferent to my contradictions, even pulling out her cell phone to act as if she hadn't heard a word.

"Whatever you say. Just thought I'd never see the famous Bart Allen submit to a domestic command on the first try, totally protest free." She shrugged like I failed to, once again, live up to her expectations.

I knew what she was trying to do. Harper had a habit of getting under people's skin, manipulating them into entertaining her. This wasn't the first time we had had a conversation like this or the first time that I had deal with her exploitation method firsthand.

It was the first time I was introduced to her by AC, and, once everybody left, she told me straight off that I didn't look much like a superhero for my size. First of all, _totally false _(I'm totally hero-worthy!). But my mind wasn't exactly thinking straight and it was hard having a hot girl like her saying exactly what she thought of you. Of course, being the impulsive 16-year-old I am, I set out to prove her wrong…

…And ended up how I usually ended up when I did something stupid: My leg or some random bone in my body newly casted up whilst being wheeled out of the hospital by an exasperated Oliver.

"What would possess you to think that traveling alongside the cars in the _Automobile Club de France_ would be a good idea?" Oliver had begun his customary lecture while pushing my wheelchair through the parking lot of Metropolis General, a place I had become a regular at since moving to the city.

"Umm, to see if I could triple the current land speed record, why else?" I asked, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Oliver simple shook his head, biting his lip to hold in the cry of frustration I knew he so badly wanted to bellow. Somehow, he managed to hold it in, but his next words were curtly spoken, "You. Are never allowed to race any vehicles again… Ever!"

"But, Olliiieee. I already broke my leg; don't you think that's punishment enough?" I whined, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

But he refused to look down, clearly familiar with my intimidation tactics. Damn, Victor must've told him about my puppy-dog ploys to get him to do anything. "I'm serious, Bart, if I catch you racing cars again, _I_ will break your leg for you."

I turned my head to the floor and gulped. I knew he wasn't serious, but the threat was a little too close to home for me. Instead of arguing, I simply nodded my head and remained very quiet and solemn until my cast was removed two weeks later.

During that time of not running or using my ability, I had a lot of time to think about Harper. She had pretty much disappeared after the incident in France, probably knowing she'd get caught. I did hold some bitterness towards her and even tried to pin some of the racing and injury blame on her, which didn't make AC particularly happy. Clark had intervened a bit and told me that, even though Harper may had played a role in the racing, it had still been my choice to go or not. I just had to let it go and not succumb to peer pressure so easily the next time.

Looking at Harper right now, seeing as clear as day what she was trying to pull on me, I was totally immune to her tactics. If there was one thing I learned from that mistake, it was that I wasn't going to be anyone's fool any longer.

"I don't care what you say, Harper. I respect Oliver, is there anything wrong with that?"

…

I guess that's what I should have said.

But instead, I suddenly find myself looking below from the highest landing of the crowded Nascar stadium, observing the racecars zooming round the black asphalt. I looked to Harper, wondering again how she convinced me to play my own personal game of "Nascar Frogger"

"Do you really think that I'm getting soft with Oliver?" I had said in the bedroom two hours earlier. Damn, it was the perfect leverage she needed. Now I'm right where she wanted me, in the packed raceway stadium with thousands of onlookers there to witness my next moves.

"If you really want to prove you're tough enough to be a real superhero, you'll do this, Bart," Harper told me with a confident smirk. "C'mon, it'll be fu-un."

I gave a weak smile in return, bracing myself for the risky race I was about to do against the speedy vehicles. They were totally slower than me, so this should be easy right. I turned to her with a small nod, "You're right, it'll be a piece of cake."

Of course, there was that slight hitch in the plan: my ability was a bit on the malfunctioning side…

XxxxXXXXxxxX

**A/N:** Wow, what a bi-otch. I do not like that girl. Anyways, I suppose I should be wrapping up this story since I promised a few of you that it would be done before summer's end, buuut, I don't think that's exactly going to happen because my summer ends next week. Still, I'll try to keep up with the chapter writing as much as I can. You'll see the conclusion to this one by next week, hopefully!

Leev an reevuw hur, plise!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This update was a wee bit late, but it's here. Let the Ollie/Bart dramatics begin!

XxxxXXXxxxX

I hadn't liked how I ended things with Bart earlier, but lately, I hadn't been in the mood for his complaints and protests. Especially considering it was he who got himself sick and injured in the first place. Still, I was really worried about the kid. I always had the niggling feelings of protective anxiety when it came to Bart actually, but right then, I was even moreso concerned.

"Well, I think if Bart really did launch the weapon into the Indian Ocean, he did a pretty clean job," I sighed into my mic to the other Justice League teammates.

"Roger that. It all looks good over here. Meet you back at the jet?" AC asked into his communicator.

"See you there." I clicked the headset to off and turned to find Clark at my side. I hoped he didn't see my jump slightly from the sudden appearance. One would think I would be use to the startling reappearing acts, having adopted the fastest boy alive, but it still caused me to start a bit. "We're meeting back at the jet." I managed to tell him.

"Bart really got this done all by himself?" Clark asked, thankfully walking at the same pace I was back towards the jet. Lex's systems had been completely obliterated along with the weapon, allowing us to roam freely on the water-bound technology site.

I surveyed the area with its towering power plants and metal-plated conductors. It was hard to imagine a boy as young as Bart able to manhandle such a large facility by himself. "He's a kid of many talents. A talent for trouble it seems like…"

"He was probably just trying to prove something. He's always felt the need to perform wild heroics on missions." Clark replied, defending my errant ward.

I rubbed the back of my neck, "Yeah, just wish he'd give me the schedule of every time he felt the need to perform said 'heroics' that way I'd know when to lock him up in his room."

Clark laughed almost simultaneously as my cell phone rang. It was a business call, told by the sound of its ring, forcing me to turn off my voice modulator to answer it in my regular voice.

"Oliver Queen," I greeted the person on the other line in as pleasant a tone I could muster.

"Queen, it's Jameson," the burly man on the other side answered in his very authoritative sounding voice.

I immediately straightened up at the name. My company was on the peak of signing a major business contract with the Jameson Company so it was imperative that I didn't screw up this latest phone conversation.

"Hello, Mr. Jameson. How was Long Beach with your family?" I answered, putting a finger to my lips to quiet Clark from talking. It was a habit I had with Bart, who had a tendency to ramble loudly during my most important phone conversations. Clark simply quirked an eyebrow at the hand gesture and I shrugged sheepishly.

"Actually, it was terrible. But we had to leave early anyway since we're celebrating my daughter's 17th birthday today." Jameson replied, harrumphing slightly at the thought of his spoiled vacation.

"Oh, please send my regards on her birthday," I said, not knowing what else to say when a man comments on his teenage daughter.

"Well, her birthday was actually three months ago. It's just taken us this long to plan it… And you can send your regards yourself. I'm inviting you to her party."

"Sir?" I said, confused why I'd be one of the attendees on the 17th Birthday Party guest list.

"Well, you wouldn't be attending it, per se. I just want more of a chance to talk shop with you while the kids have their fun," he laughed loudly at his own joke while I chuckled lightly. "I hear you got a boy her age, too. Take him along!"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. How did I always get stuck in weird predicaments when trying to land big business deals? There was no way Bart was going to want to tag along to some random girl's birthday party.

"Hmm, I don't know…" I began and I could immediately sense the decision would be the wrong one by the low growl on the other line.

"I can see I was mistaken about you, Queen." Jameson started and I quickly rushed to cut him off.

Laughing, I said hastily, "I'm just joking. We'll sure to stop by there, Mr. Jameson."

Jameson's booming laughter filled my headset in response, "Oh, Queen, you old trickster! I'll see you later tonight then."

I said my farewells, resisting the urge to crush the cell phone into little pieces. Clark was eyeing me with careful consideration and I just shook my head in reply.

"How is it that I can be the chief of an empire and still have to kiss people's ass?"

Clark just shrugged. "I'm just a reporter. Why are you asking me?"

XxxxXXXxxxX

"Ah-ah-" I hissed in pain as Harper lightly dabbed the alcohol swab across the large gash on my torso.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she replied, focused only on her work. I worked hard not to glared at her and blame her for getting me into this mess. After all, I had agreed to the cock-eyed plan and I was the one who got sidelined by the DuPont NASCAR vehicle. I could barely process how I was able to recover from being cut off by the car or how I got out of the stadium into Harper's car out front. Alls I knew was that I was in a lot of pain now and I did not want to look at the damage. "Can you lift your arms for me?"

Now that she was thankfully done applying the antiseptic, she held up a roll of white gauze in her hands, waiting for me to move my arms. I obeyed her, looking up as she rolled the bandage across my bruised and bleeding wound. Only after she secured the last of the bandage in place with a metal clasp did I dare to look down. Even after just cleaning up the wound, I noticed a bit of red starting to seep through.

I gulped. That couldn't be good. I looked up at Harper who had a similar queasy expression.

"I think it should start clotting in a second. It really wasn't _that _bad of a-" Harper stopped as we both heard the sounds of the front door opening, indicating the arrival of Oliver and the rest of the guys.

Silently and quickly, both of us sprung into action. Harper got up from where she was kneeling in front of me and began packing up the contents of the first aid kit while I grabbed my striped red and black t-shirt, pulling it over my head and hiding my injury from sight.

Harper turned to me after she threw the kit under the bathroom sink, looking heated and serious. "We don't say anything about what happened today."

I quirked an incredulous eyebrow at her. "You think I'm gonna tell!"

She smirked, glad that we were at least on the same page. We both walked out of the bathroom and greeted the other members of the JLA. Clark asked us what we both had been up to and Harper replied quickly before I could even open my mouth.

"Oh you know, same old, same old," she said with a wave of her hand. "I've just been talking on the phone with my friends and Bart's been sleeping." I nodded my agreement with the story.

"Sounds pretty boring. Not that our mission was any more exciting," Victor said, and I suddenly felt the heat of everyone's gaze on me. There was a definite awkwardness in the room now and there was the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Hmm, I wonder if they knew something I didn't...

"Eh heh, well, I think you guys should probably hit the showers. You're starting to stink up the living room," I told them and thankfully, they agreed, going in their separate directions to change and clean up.

I felt like I had dodged a bullet of sorts, having avoided melting under the intensity of their gazes, but then I noticed Ollie was still standing in the doorway, staring me down.

"I need to talk to you about something, Bart," he said and started walking in the direction of his office upstairs.

My eyes widened at the statement and I felt my heart start to beat a little faster. Instinctively, I held my side and looked to Harper for support. "Do you think he knows?"

"There is NO way." She said. "Just go up there and see what he wants. Just remember, in this case, lying is a virtue."

I nodded my head and numbly followed after Ollie. I wanted to superspeed up to his office, but I found out that because of my ailing condition, my ability was on the fritz and barely functional as it was.

When I got up the stairs, panting a little from the exertion and my throbbing side, I stepped quietly into Ollie's office where he was returning his bow and arrows into their rightful spots. "Yo, did you need something?"

He turned to me, his expression trained and calm-looking. Sometimes I had a hard time deciphering what was boiling beneath Oliver's exterior. Maybe that's why he was such a successful businessman.

"Sit down Bart," he said. Normally I would have made a big to-do about obeying his instruction, but I decided to just do it, for the sake of not cracking my already thin-ice. Oliver sat down opposite me in his big, leather executive chair. "I'm pretty sure you know what I want to talk about."

I sighed; by the way he was talking, I was pretty confident now what he was going to lecture me on. What lie should I come up with this time? Not that it would do any good, he was probably watching the race on the news...

"Lex's missile was never supposed to be a one man job," Oliver interrupted before I could even reply. Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten about my other misdeed. Man, I was really having a hard time keeping up with all the bad things I'd done lately. But at least this meant he didn't know about the racecar incident. Still, this wasn't exactly ample time for rejoicing. "Yet you made it one. For that, I am explicitly grounding you from going on any missions with the League for the next two months."

"What?" I replied, snapping up from the chair I'd been squirming in. Okay, scratch all that stuff about being relieved he didn't know about the racecar incident. This sucked either way. Oliver had totally blown a gasket and now I was paying for it two-fold! "But I helped you! I did what you were going to do in the first place in half the time. If anything, you should be thanking me!"

Oliver slammed his hands on his desk, immediately losing his cool at my verbal retaliation. "You put your life and well-being in danger, Bart. You're my responsibility now, and I will not allow you to act recklessly."

My nostrils flared at his words and I clenched my fists as he tried to throw his reasoning at me. "Oh I get it now! Since I'm _your_ responsibility now, you gotta cover your ass by locking up mine! God forbid the lofty Mr. Queen be seen with an errant ward!"

I could tell I had hit a particularly soft spot with Oliver because his whole demeanor hardened at my words and his voice got very scary and deep, "This is not a conversation, Bartholomew. You're grounded from these missions, going out with your friends, and playing any games."

I took on a crestfallen expression, "But you just said missions."

"That was before you decided to attack me. You can have the last two back when you learn some respect," he told me. I glared daggers at the blonde man who switched his attention back to his cell phone. "Now get ready. We're leaving for a business party in two hours."

"But you just said I was grounded-" I started but Ollie cut me off, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I said from going out with friends. If you really want to argue with me, we can make it three months," he said. I snapped my mouth shut but continued to give him a dark scowl. This dude was getting on my last nerve. He looked at me, "Well?"

I got up from the chair and plodded out of his office, slamming the door shut loudly behind me. I smirked a little when I heard his growl of frustration, but then became deflated again when I remembered I had to go to a party.

-A party that would probably involve a lot of moving that I wasn't very keen on doing, but I sure as hell wasn't going to tell Ollie this though. After the way he harassed me for the weapon ordeal, I'd hate to see what would happen if he knew about my injury. I was seriously starting to rethink this whole father/son relationship.

It was seriously sucking to be the son.

XxxxXXXxxxX

**A/N:** Sorry it's a bit on the short side. I just transferred to uni so it's been Stress City in this neck of the woods. Hollaback to all my fellow college students, just trying to get a decent ejamacation! Haha, please leave a review too!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Okie dokie, here's Chapter 7. Sorry for the little wait, hopefully you'll feel it was deserved since you guys gave me like ZERO reviews. Sike! No, I got like 3. That's good enough for me! Still, send me some feedback! I like it.

XxxxXXXxxxX

Bart and I arrived at the mansion where the newly 17-year-old's party was being held in a state of incensed silence. Even as we walked to the door, Bart had his arms tightly crossed over his dark red dress shirt and a stony scowl firmly in place. I looked down at him, resisting the urge to tell him to get his act together, knowing it wouldn't do any good, and, if anything, make his entire demeanor even worse.

"Hey," I said, hoping to try a different approach. He looked up at me from under his shaggy, brown bangs, a firm frown on his face. "Try to behave tonight, okay?"

Okay, obviously that wasn't what he wanted to hear because his face only darkened into a deeper glower. Ugh, if he would just make some right decisions, maybe I wouldn't have to remind him to make good ones once in awhile!

When I knocked on the door, a servant answered, already on her way out with a big bag of trash. Peaking over her shoulder, I could see the rowdy teenagers laughing, dancing, and chasing each other in the expansive mansion, which cluttered with various party decorations and trash.

"Oh my, I'm sorry, sir! I didn't hear you knock!" the maid apologized, looking sheepish.

I gave her a reassuring smile and a nod. "It's not problem. I'm just here to see-"

"Mr. Jameson! Yes, he's been expecting you, Mr. Queen. Told me so himself that he wanted to meet with you right away!" she said, seeming proud to have been entrusted with the boss' meeting information. She tilted her head to the shorter young man beside Oliver, her eyes lighting up. "And you must be Bart Allen! -I only know from the pictures in the magazines. Haha, sooo, how do you like your new dad?"

While Bart dropped his head in misery at her words, I put myself on the defensive, my face becoming solemn at her words. "Please. Mr. Jameson's office?"

The maid could plainly tell she crossed some sort of privacy boundary by our reactions and became sincerely apologetic looking. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. That was so rude of me. I have such a big mouth and sometimes things just don't register in my brain first."

"That's all right," I said, doing my best to give her another smile though it was harder. It wasn't all right though. Glancing down at Bart, I could see how uncomfortable and weary the sudden popularity was making him. Out of all the people I could save, I always felt like Bart was furthest out of reach. Especially considering it was my celebrity that was getting him stuck in this mess in the first place.

"Here, just give me a minute to throw this out and I'll show you where his office is. You can go right in, Bart, if you like…" she trailed off, giving my boy an uncertain look. With a tight-lipped grimace, Bart nodded, and the maid smiled before rounding the corner to the dumpsters.

Eyeing the party from the distance, I could only imagine the chaos these kids were getting into. I looked down at Bart, who was giving off the expression that last thing he wanted to do was go inside.

"Hey, you can stick with me if you want. I'll only be a couple of hours," I told him, trying my best to give off the "nice guy" vibe.

It was only when I spoke aloud the offer did he remember that he was supposed to be angry at me, hence why he quickly removed himself from my side, hardening his resolve to go into the party.

"I'll be fine. Call me when you're done." he said brashly, plodding into the swarm of teenagers who were gradually turning the living room into their own personal club lounge.

I sighed and waited on the arrival of the maid, who returned shortly after and lead my up the stairs into the corner office of the extravagant house. Even overlooking the balcony of the stairway, I doubt I would have been able to see or hear Bart over the booming music and hoards of young people.

Sensing the danger of so many underage, wild kids stuffed into one house, I only hoped, this time, Bart would take my recommendation to_ for once_ behave.

XxxxxXXXXxxxxX

"Behave my ass," I grumbled, filling up one of the small shot glasses and downing it in one gulp. The teens around me cheered and hollered at my brave display of inebriation. My eyes watered uncontrollably. The burn of the alcohol left me choking and gasping for air, but the massive crowd approval made it feel entirely too good. Damn peer pressure.

The crowd was egging me on to continue, chanting "one more!" in perfect unison. My body told me no though as it leaned precariously against the counter, threatening to fall over. Still, my mind could still sense the hurt Ollie had put me through. His disappointment in me as a son. I wanted only to drown the need for his approval into nothingness, and the shot of Jack on the counter seemed to be the only solution.

My face set in a readying grimace, I picked up the small cup and downed it once more. The crowd went crazy and so did my stomach. Not able to handle the rowdy mob any longer, I pushed my way through them, blindly searching for an exit.

I don't know how I found it through my haze of drunkeness, but I was suddenly in the backyard, puking my guts out in the bush next to a couple that had been in a serious makeout session before my arrival. I was coherent enough to hear the girl's sounds of utter disgust at my actions.

"God! Learn to hold your liquor, kid!" the male yelled at the protests of his girlfriend. After they left, I finally found the solitude in which I sought to barf in peace. After several more minutes of the alcohol ripping it's way out of my body, my body sagged to the ground, laying my cheek against the cool, neatly-trimmed lawn.

Still feeling smashed beyond the belief, I ventured to pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial a number that resembled someone that would help me. 911 was a tad on the exaggerated side (and I doubt my shaky fingers would have been able to find the buttons in the first place), so I prayed that I would randomly land on Clark's number, even AC's.

I heard a ringtone and would've smiled if my current predicament didn't leave me sorely nauseous. I kept repeating the words "pick up" mentally in my head until I finally got an answer.

"Hello?" a female voice said. Was that-?

"Harper? Is that you?" I croaked, my throat raw from the searing liquor.

"Uhh, yeah, Bart, you're the one that called me, remember?" she replied, sounding confused.

"I needsh…yousss to…. pickmeup?" I slurred, feeling the effects of the alcohol incapacitating me from talking clearly.

"Bart?" I heard a small laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"I don't… What?" I couldn't compute what was going on anymore. She was either making no sense or I was entirely too intoxicated. I would vote the latter, but I couldn't convince myself of that. "Call Ollie, pleaassh. I don't… I'm ssstuck…"

Harper laughed in a seriously sinister manner, and it was at that moment, even in my drunken state, that I finally connected she was nothing but pure evil. "God…You don't deserve him, you know that, right?"

I closed my eyes, feeling even more stupid than I already did after drinking an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. How could I have trusted her? It was plain to see her jealousy of my and Oliver's relationship as father and son. I had always shrugged it off as a romantic sort of envy though. Oh, stupid-stupid-stupid…

"Why would he ever wreck his perfect life for a little snot like you? You're just some loser street kid that doesn't understand what it means to be a real superhero. Once I show Ollie how horrible you've been these past few days, he'll never trust you again. He'll throw you back in the slums where you belong!" she said in words that were dripping with venom.

I swallowed, resisting the urge to throw up the nonexistent contents of my stomach again. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She was trying to separate Ollie and me this entire time? How could someone hide their motive so well? I was almost convinced Harper was the only friend I had in this world that understood what it felt like to be a teenager in the fight against evil and now… She had suddenly transformed into the very manipulative criminals we battled.

I rubbed my face in hopes that it would sober me up. No dice. The world was actually getting blurrier the more I laid in the grass, unconsciousness creeping into the edges of my vision.

"And hey, Bart, don't worry. I'll call Ollie for you right away. I also have some plans for the other members of the JLA…" Harper revealed, and I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline at those words.

She was **not **going to hurt my family.

"If you do anything to them, you're dead, Harper! I swear to God!" I cried. It was too late though; all I heard on the other side was dial-tone.

I had to get home and warn them. I had no other choice; there was no telling what she had cooked up! Standing up on wobbly legs, I attempted to superspeed. Nothing. It felt like I had no ability to begin with, but I was still painfully aware of the dulled ache in my torso from my earlier injury.

_Tough it out, Bart, you can make it home._ I told myself._ Do it for the team. They need you._ Relying heavily on my stubborn prowess, I unlatched the side gate and started my slow, ten mile stagger in what I hoped was the direction towards home.

Maybe this wasn't the most brilliant plan, but it was the only one I had left…

XxxxXXXXxxxxX

**A/N:** Okay, I get A LOT of people telling me how there are virtually no parental Bart/Ollie stories out there, and I have to agree. Just so we're clear, I like READING them, just as much as I like WRITING THEM. Also, I don't own any copyright on this genre whatsoever.

What I'm trying to say is…

If you want to read more of these types, I suggest you write more. And tell me! I'd be more than happy to give my input. For now, review this story, haha!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Wow, a week later update. I'm getting good! Thanks for the reviews; they really encouraged me to write this baby! Keep them coming.

XxxxXXXxxxX

"I think you make a more than convincing proposal, Mr. Queen," Jameson said, a smile growing on his fat, bearded face. "And you've obviously done your homework. I'm impressed!"

He and I stood in unison, a tight-lipped smile on my face. I was pleased that the meeting had gone well, but I was anxious to leave since it had taken a little longer than the one hour I had predicted. He stuck his open hand out and I shook it firmly.

"It's going to be a pleasure to work with you in the future," the older man said, and I could already see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. God, even the guys that had everything were as greedy as ever.

We had a few more parting words as I exited through his office doors into the hallway where I could still hear the kids going at it through the walls. I felt sorry for him and only hoped Bart would have a different definition of "party" for his birthday. Thinking of this, I immediately turned on my phone to call Bart. I had turned it off as a precaution during the meeting for fear that it would have endlessly rung throughout the meeting, and sure enough, I was correct. My phone buzzed with the 20-30 texts and missed phone calls. The text from Harper caught my attention as I skimmed through the never-ending list, therefore I opened it.

"Bart got kicked out of the party. Picked him up. Back at the base already." I read the text, becoming increasingly infuriated with each passing word. Once I finished reading, I felt like the grip on my phone was about to pulverize it into dust. I just couldn't fathom how Bart could have possibly been so immature to retaliate to his earlier punishment in such a way.

_He got kicked out of the party?_

I was afraid to ask.

Not to mention, I had no idea how to deal with this. I had already grounded him for two months, there wasn't much left for me to take away. There was absolutely no way I would resort to anything physical for fear that it would bring back distressing memories of his past, and locking him up would never work (also too drastic). Somehow I figured my biggest concern was reigning in my torrential fury concerning his recent spree of rebellion.

Stalking down the stare, a solid glare on my face, most of the kids parted like the red sea to get out of the way of the scary, tall man who looked about ready to murder someone. I swiftly walked over to my luxury car, dropped inside behind the wheel, resisted the urge to scream to the heavens how unfair life was, and started the vehicle with more force than was necessary for the $300,000 engineering.

I was fuming by the time I peeled out of the mansion's lavish courtyard and onto the rural road. It was dusk now and the sun peeked over the edge of the horizon. In contrast with the serene setting around me, my mind was going a billion miles a minute. Was it not enough that I was the billionaire owner of a major industry, the leader of a small band of world-rescuing superheores- Did Bart really think I needed more stress in my life? Couldn't he put himself in my shoes for a second to think, "Hey, maybe this isn't a smart thing to do…"

I was so enraptured in my own thoughts, I barely registered the heap near the center of the road up ahead. I squinted in the sunset, trying to make out if it was a tire or other miscellaneous objects felled from a person's truck. My brakes couldn't have screeched louder when I saw the patch of hair atop of the heap. Was that… A person?

My heart beat a little faster and I deftly stopped my car on the side of the meandering highway, going into instant superhero mode. It was only when I saw the familiar red shirt and golden brown hair did I start to instantly panic.

"Bart!" I cried, running the rest of the way over. My greatest nightmare was confirmed as I turned the boy over, his face dirty but glowing a pale white in the setting sun. My fingers scrambled up to his neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but frighteningly weak. My surrogate son reeked of alcohol, dust, and blood –the last one concerning me more than the other two combined.

I gathered Bart up into my arms, a lump in my throat and my eyes welling with unshed tears. I swallowed my feelings quickly though, telling myself to stay in the present, despite how painful it was to take in what I was seeing. Lifting up the light young man, I rushed him over to the car, laying him carefully into the backseat.

I rapidly got into the drivers street, ignited the engine, and raced down the highway. I barely knew if lights were red or if signs were instructing me to stop or not. There was no way in hell I was going to slow down knowing Bart was hanging by mere threads. I had to get Bart better and fast. Damn how many laws I broke. I glanced nervously into the rearview mirror where I could watch Bart's still form. It was unnerving how he hadn't even stirred at being picked up or the breakneck speeds of the car. Then again, maybe he was used to it.

By the time I arrived back at the JLA headquarters, aka, our home, I had Bart up the stairs and into the master bathroom so fast I'm sure many would have mistaken me for the one with superspeed. Being so attentive on Bart and the current circumstances, I could hardly be bothered with the fact that I had yet to see Cy, AC, Clark, or Harper. Hard to believe since Harper was the one who had fed me false information about Bart being safe only an hour before, yet here I was: trying for dear life to just revive him.

"Bart, wake up, please, come on." I had Bart sat atop on the white marble counter, but even after slapping him as hard as I could without seriously injuring him, nothing. I only had one option left. I turned on the built in Jacuzzi which instantly sprang to life with gallons of bubbling water. I set the temperature to as cold as possible on the spa before reluctantly settling Bart inside of the tub while still fully clothed.

"Ahh!" he gasped in shock, his mouth forming into a prominent "O" and his eyes widening with scared surprise. I was so relieved to see him awake I inadvertently lost my hold on the boy, and he sank completely under the gyrating surface of the water. Acting quickly, I turned off the Jacuzzi completely and fished Bart from out of the pool and into my arms again.

His small form shivered uncontrollably and his teeth chattered as I lead him from the pool and back onto the counter with his sopping clothes leaking moisture onto the tile. His eyes were bloodshot red and looking at me with a haunted look that tore my insides to pieces. Bart was genuinely scared and insecure right then, which was exactly how I never wanted him to feel.

"I'm so sorry, Bart. I had to wake you up. You're okay now. You're okay." I repeated it like a mantra, more to convince myself than him. I was still trying to remove the image of seeing him near death on the side of the road. He seemed more distracted by the fact that he was currently freezing over from the chill of the bathroom than his consciousness. I gently opened his arms that were tightly folded over his stomach and helped him peel off the darkened material over his head. I gasped at the sight of his torso.

Blood was everywhere.

That's what I had smelt earlier on the highway and it was every bit as appalling as my overactive imagination thought it was. The sloppily wrapped bandage was almost falling completely off, causing the wound to seep with the red liquid. My eyebrows quirked in concern, and I was sure the wrinkles on my forehead would be deeper than ever after tonight. There goes my young bachelor card…

As I'm sure was obvious to Bart, I had questions, but considering the fact that it was him with the susceptibility of becoming an icicle in the next ten minutes and him with the large, oozing gash in his side, I figured he could answer them later. My feet lead me deftly to the linen closet where I pulled down a large fluffy towel and first aid kit. When I returned, I wrapped the towel around Bart, rubbing it over his dripping hair and shoulders. It had some effect but it would take awhile for his body to readjust temperatures after such a huge shock.

Next I set to work on rewrapping the wound, which, thankfully, was shallow enough to be treated by even my mediocre medical training. Although it was lucky the gash wasn't deeper, I was still incredible unnerved on how he got it and why he hadn't told me about such an injury earlier. Was he really going through all of this alone?

I was berating myself now, for, not twenty minutes ago, I was ranting about how stressed _my_ life was. Damn, what kind of selfish monster had I become? Bart was only 16, weight completely on his shoulders with less than no one in his life to care for him. And here I was, the guy that was supposed to be at least halfway raising him, and I couldn't take my eyes off my own problems for more than 10 seconds.

How could I have been so blind?

Bart winced as I pinched the last of the wound closed with another butterfly bandage, covering the large cut with some healing salve and gauze before wrapping it tightly in a white linen dressing. By the time I was done, Bart was somewhat returning to the land of the living. I could still smell the alcohol on his breath so there was little doubt in my mind it would be awhie for him to sober again.

"Shtaft to tell yoush shomthin…" Bart murmured quietly, blinking at me tiredly. I leaned in closer, unable to make out his words. "Harper'sshh gone doo get them…"

"Harper? What are you trying to say?" I hoped for her sake that she had nothing to do with all the shit that was going down right now. If I saw her again, I could promise there would be 10 times the pain Bart had to deal with right now.

Before I could get another garbled response from Bart's lips, his eyes blinked tiredly once more before his head fell forward and his body slumped with unconsciousness. I caught him before he slid completely off the counter, hoisting him up until his head rested on my shoulder to hear that he was still breathing. Thankfully heartbeat had become stronger, meaning that the blood loss hadn't been as dreadful as I would have made it out to be.

With one hand holding Bart steady against me, I used my other to fish my cell phone out of my pocket, dialing directly into Cyborg's communicator. Within one ring, Cy picked up, his voice sounding frantic.

"Arrow, what's up? We've been trying to get a hold of you for an hour!" he yelled and I could hear loud noises in the background that made it hard to understand whatever reprimands Victor was saying to me.

"Bart's had an emergency. I think I may need to take him to the hospital. What's going on with you guys? Where's Harper?" I asked, hoping he'd answer my last enquiry first.

"She's the one causing all of this. You need to get down here, Arrow. Impulse is going to have to wait on this one! I'm transmitting the coordinates to our location now." My phone rang with the received address. "I'm out." Cy said, and the line went dead.

My mouth had fallen open at the abrupt ending and the amount of questions that were swirling through my head. What was going on? Why was Harper so involved in all of this? From my knowledge, she was just a young girl from Atlantis. Sure, it wasn't a typical teenage history but not enough to merit her being a psychopath!

The only thing I knew was that I had to get over there fast to get my answers. Before I set off to change in my uniform though, I hesitated, looking down at Bart still resting feverishly in my arms. Looking at him made me more resolved to take swift revenge.

Harper was going to pay for hurting my family.

XxxxXXXxxxX

**A/N:** Oh, Ollie going on the rampage! Wanna find out more? Drop another review! (sorry for pestering you so much for them. I swear I'm going to rehab for this addiction to them, haha!)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello lovely readers, sorry for the wait on this one! Hopefully next chapter comes faster. Hopefully you guys give me oodles of feedback. Hopefully I get a pony for Christmas!

XxxxXXXxxxX

Bart's POV

My eyes flew open, and I was instantly aware of the pain coursing throughout my entire body. My stomach and head were probably the main culprits of the major ache session though. I carefully moved my body up into a sitting position, wincing and holding my breath the entire way until I felt the pain had dissipated enough for me to breath evenly again.

Unclenching my jaw, I finally found the energy to relax a bit and take in my surroundings: Green bedspread. Vaulted ceilings. Modern furnishings. This was Ollie's room. But, how did I get here? I could barely remember anything. I knew the cause of this was because of my monumental drinking binge, but what had I done to get here? My mind searched for a good two minutes but nothing was connecting (not only that, but my brain was throbbing in protest). Probably the only thing I was particularly conscious of was the fact that I was in Ollie's bedroom but my guardian was nowhere to be seen.

A lump was growing in my throat and I knew it was filled more with emotional pain than physical. Ollie must've been really pissed off if he would just leave me here, with obvious injury, without even trying to get me any aid. There was no other reason for why he would just ditch me here, no note or explanation to be seen. I could probably think of a million reasons of why I could merit such behavior from my adoptive father.

Most likely out of sheer resentment that he ever took in such a failure for a son like me…

Despite the fact that he undoubtedly wanted nothing to do with me after discovering all the trouble I put myself through, I still wanted to see him. _What can I say? I'm an optimist_, I thought bitterly. Gingerly, I rose from the bed, holding my side bandaging in place before creeping outside of the room.

As quickly as I could muster, I began my search for my guardian in the expansive house, but every room turned up with a massive nothing. Not even the other league members were anywhere to be seen. Were they disappointed in me too? I could only imagine the look on their faces after Ollie told them of all the lies I'd been covering up and the way I put the team in such jeopardy. I almost didn't blame them for abandoning me like this.

Suddenly, a sob ripped through my throat. At the top of the stairs, looking out at the empty mansion, I could feel nothing but pure helplessness. What was I supposed to do? My ability wasn't working so I couldn't run away. I was stuck in this mess I created without even my guardian to help me.

Tears built up in my eyes and I reached up to wipe them away. I hesitated as I saw that my fingertips were moist with blood. Looking down, I saw that the wound I'd been holding had most likely opened from my jarring movements around the house.

Fan-freaking-tastic, I thought to myself. As if things couldn't get any worse!

I was bleeding to death and now there was no way for me to get to the hospital because my ability was shot and my only friends abandoned me. As incoherent as my mind was, I knew I had to find help and quickly. Sure, my life was in shambles all around me, but that didn't mean my survival instinct had vanished in the last ten minutes.

I'd contemplated suicide on another date, thanks.

Searching my anxiety-clouded brain, I started toward the front door, holding my side gingerly the entire trek to the Henderson's house next door. Jason was a bud of mine that I met while training outside one morning for missions. We'd become friends, playing basketball in his front yard and recently I coached him in running, gaining him a spot on the track team. I only hoped he would keep my former investment in mind when he heard the favor I was about to ask him.

I knelt down on the cobblestoned pathway leading up to the Henderson's equally expansive house, picking up a few stones and tossing them weakly against the glass of Jason's window (at least, I hoped it was). I let out a breath when the tall and tan sixteen year old's blonde head of hair came into view.

Jason opened the window, adjusting the stylish, thick-rimmed glasses atop his pointed nose at the sight of me. "Bart? He exclaimed. "What's with the sneaky boyfriend attention grabber?"

I swallowed thickly, my vision doubling momentarily as I prepared to talk to the gradually blurring image of my next door neighbor. "I need your help. Can you get down here? Bring… keys. Don't tell you parents…"

Jason, well, as much as I could make out, tilted his head in evident confusion. God, what did this guy need, a sign on my forehead that told him I was bleeding to death?

There was suddenly another sharp stabbing pain that crawled its way through the nerves in my stomach, causing me to reel forward on my knees in anguish.

It took ten seconds (again, very uncertain estimating) for Jason to get to my side, help me up, and start loading me in to the passenger seat of his mom's Porsche. I really wished he could've picked a different car for me to spill my guts into…

The drive to the emergency room was nothing but a big haze. I could hear Jason's voice, but couldn't make out any of the words. His tone was comprehended though: first it was panicked (understandable, I wouldn't react any different if he were bleeding as bad as I was), next it was regretful (also understood; his parents were undoubtedly going to kill him for being involved. It didn't help that his mom never cozied up to me in the first place), finally his tone was encouraging (which actually had the opposite effect of scaring me since it most likely meant that things were looking seriously bad.)

The only thing left for me to do was lean my sweaty, aching head against the seat, try to control my ragged, labored breathing, and pray that the hospital could work miracles and rid me of the intense pain.

For some reason, even though it was totally inappropriate given the degree of emergency I was going through; I couldn't help my thoughts from circling back to Ollie. I wonder if my guardian had any intention of leaving me on my death bed when he abandoned me earlier.

Obviously this was probably a through sprung from my delirium and blood loss, but here I sat, breathing what felt like my last breaths- Ollie nowhere to be seen…

XxxxXXXxxxX

Ollie's POV

Surprisingly, Harper's plans to separate the Justice League were not as masterfully sinister as I had previously expected. By the time I had driven my black and green Lamborghini to the location lit up on AC and Vic's communicators, it seemed the situation was already under control.

I had climbed out of my Lamborghini, still dressed in my street clothes, still looking menacing as I quickly approached the brunette young woman. Harper was glaring furiously at her blonde, buff cousin, currently handcuffed and firmly held in his strong grasp.

I looked at her than AC then the building behind them. "THE DAILY PLANET," the rotating globe above them read. I was more than familiar with it, seeing as I owned a fair investment in Metroplis' biggest newspaper. It suddenly clicked in my mind what she had planned to do here to disband us.

I took long, stern strides towards the girl, who didn't seemed fazed at all by the murderous look on my hardened features. "You were going to air our secret? After we trusted you?"

Harper only smirked, tilted her head a little, and a pipe to her right burst open, slamming me square in the chest. I fell backwards, cracking my head against the backlot's cold asphalt.

I waited as the pipe's water supply died down before getting up, lightly fingering the fresh gash on the back of my head. AC was shaking her in reprimand for launching me clear across the alleyway, looking angrier than I had ever seen the Aquaman before. I walked closer to AC and Harper again, this time more cautiously in case I had to dart out of the way of another flash flood.

"What did I say? You're only making you situation words, Harper! Poseidon is going to kill you if he figures out how you've jeopardized our entire city!"

I could recognize Poseidon as an obvious authority figure in both of their lives and "city" as being none other than the lost Atlantis.

Harper's face screwed up into a dark glower at AC's words. "Don't you see? Poseidon's the exact reason I'm doing all this!" She suddenly turned her now sorrowful features to me. Obviously, I did not see how Poseidon connected with our current situation at all. Her tone softened as she continued, wistfully. "I've always been jealous of Bart. Ever since I found out he was like me, in a way. I always thought it was so unfair. I'm restricted from using my abilities, and Poseidon jumps down my neck for every little decision I make! How could I have him as a dad but Bart gets… Bart got you?" He eyes filled with jealous, hot tears.

It suddenly made send to me now, why she was always giving me those looks and doing everything she could to make Bart seem like a bad kid. Her choices, though extremely misguided, were the sole result of a very cruel and stifling upbringing. I felt sad for her.

I could tell that she was plainly distressed from the confession so I took a complete 360 of when I first arrived and decided to console her. "Harper, I get it. You've had a hard life, but don't assume Bart's had an easy one. His mom and dad all but forgot about him at a very young age, but you got a father that goes to extraordinary measure to ensure you're keeping on track. Granted, pulling a stunt like this isn't going to alleviate his distrust in you, but you can earn it over again, I know it. Point is, you've already got a great dad who loves you very much. Your dad and I are more alike than you think: we just want what's best for our kid…"

Jenna's eyes were streaming with tears, tracking their way down her cheeks. She gazed at me with genuine appreciation. "Thank you." She turned to AC. "Arthur, I think… I'm ready." AC nodded at her, his own demeanor softening as her mood turned gentle and submissive. I was glad my powers of persuasion still had a degree of oomph left in them. I was beginning to doubt its effectiveness due to a certain young hero's total indifference to it.

Speaking of which. My mind switched into full-blown resolve mode as I turned to make my way back to my sport car to race home and help Bart.

I stopped though as Vic and Clark appeared out of nowhere in front of me. "AC's going to escort Harper back to Atlantis to see Poseidon. I doubt we'll hear from her for awhile…" Clark told me, swiping his hand through his damp and dripping hair. I noticed that the two heroes seemed to have caught the worst of Harper's water bursting "tantrums."

"You got the tape she was going to air?" I enquired of Vic anxiously. He held it up with a satisfied smirk. Before I had the chance to give them a brief status on Bart's condition, my personal phone, which I didn't often carry with me on regular missions rang with the sound of an odd number calling me.

I quirked an eye at the ID on my phone's screen, reading, "Metropolitan General." I hoped the dry taste in my mouth as I answered the call with a somber "Hello?" wasn't an indication of what was happening on the other line.

"Mr. Queen?" the voice of a female asked.

"Yes?"

"Yes, this is Brenda Carson. I'm a nurse at MetroGeneral. I've got your son here, brought in by a boy, who provided me with your number. I'm gonna need you to get down here now. Bart's in serious condition..."

My entire brain seemed to stop thinking and coldness washed over me, causing me to shut my eyes in terror. I opened them again, looking at Clark earnestly who could hear my conversation with the nurse with his super hearing. I nodded in response to his beseeching gaze, watching his superspeed off into nothing. I signaled to Vic with my finger to follow me to my car, still grasping the phone in my pal against my ear.

"My friend is on his way and I'll get there in 10 min. Can I speak to the boy?"

"The one who brought Bart in? I suppose." Though she didn't seemed please with having to call whoever it was over, I was soon hearing the voice of Jason Henderson through the phone.

"Mr. Queen. I have no idea how it happened. Bart begged me not to call you but I had no other choice!" the boy seemed seriously panicked. Poor kid.

Why had Bart requested that though? "No, it's a good thing you called me. Thanks for taking care of Bart. I'll be there soon to see Bart and explain thinks to you parents."

"Erm, they don't actually know I'm here."

"Bart's idea?" I asked.

"Yea…"

I sighed. "All right, just keep an eye out for Bart's doctor. I'll be there shortly."

I grasped the steering wheel, leering at the road in front of me. Right then, I spoke softly, hoping it would somehow carry off to Bart's ear. "Please be okay, Bart. I just got you, kid, I don't want to lose you."

XxxxXXXxxxX

A/N: Okay, next chapter should be the last! Yoink! Please review, it took great effort to write this during finals, but reviews usually make the decision easier. (Who am I kidding? Between fanfiction and studying, it's usually ALWAYS fanfiction! ;) )


	10. Chapter End

**A/N:** Hello all, here we are, at the end of our journey. I really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it. If this **inspires** you to do something (say, write your own smarmy Bart and Ollie piece), I will gladly beta, read, and/or review that sucker for all it's worth. Just sayin'! ;)

XxxxXXXxxxX

I entered the hospital room, my blonde hair sticking up in weird directions after sleeping in the waiting room for the fourth night in a row. The moment visiting hours were allowed again, bright and early at 5:30am, I was first in line to check in with the nurse and faithfully position myself by my adopted son's bed.

The backlash of missing so many days away from the office was really the least of my concerns, as I spent most of the time talking to the unconscious and feverish Bart about what had happened in the last few days and how I just wanted him to get better.

"We're fairly concerned about the amount of blood loss and injuries he's sustained. Can you give us any indication on how he got these?" The nurse had asked me on that fateful day when I came rushing into the hospital to see Bart.

I shook my head, my mind plagued with guilt as I answered, "Honestly, I don't know. I need to ask him the same thing. When can I see him?"

"He just got out of surgery. His body is going to need awhile to repair the damage so he will remain sedated while in the ICU. You can see him when we move him to a regular floor, but even then, he may not regain consciousness until later."

My eyes dropped to the floor with severe disappointment written on it, my fist clenched in frustration. I thought actually being the kid's father would give me the right to at the very least see him. -Apparently not, which only served to anger me more. These damn hospital restrictions were going to be the death of me! I had to see Bart!

I tried to reason with the nurse, but she would have none of it. Her stance was firm on hospital policy and patients not being disturbed while post-op. After running out of options, I did the only thing I could do: Wait until 2am when the nightly nurses were doing their rounds, quick-claw up to Bart's window, break in as noiselessly as possible dressed as the Green Arrow, and see how he was doing.

In theory, it wasn't a terrible plan, but after startling the nurse, getting Bart moved to a maximum security ward, and having a news report released on the Green Arrow being a hospital-prowling pervert, I started to reconsider my actions a little.

Still, for those few minutes after I had broken in, I had seen a sight that would forever be painfully seared into my brain: Bart, lying lifelessly on the bed, with nothing but a thin sheet and plenty of wires strewn across his small, skinny frame. His face was pale, almost glowing, in the darkness of the room and he had one huge tube coming out of his throat. My eyes had immediately filled with tears at the sight, and I wondered how I could be so terrible a guardian that I couldn't protect him from the horrific wrongs that befell him.

Now, four days later, my need to see Bart well again had burgeoned to a fiery desire that I couldn't repress. If he wasn't better soon, I was going to get my top doctors on the case to find out what was wrong with him. I mean, my God, if you're going to be a billionaire, might as well put your money to a good cause.

And right now, Bart was my only cause.

My cause for hope, my cause for family, and my cause for living. Bart had changed so much about my life in the last ten months I had adopted him, and there weren't enough words in the world to express how much I appreciated him for it. He saved me from the days I was sure I would be swallowed by my wealth, my job, the League. Bart gave me a true picture of the ultimate superhero: loyal, carefree, strong, and stubborn.

The edges of my mouth lifted at just the remembrance of Bart's obstinate attitude, but they fell as quickly as they had lifted as I recalled the lifeless picture that would meet me as I opened the hard wooden door to his hospital room.

Lightly, I nudged the door open.

Nothing.

Or should I say nobody. The bed in the room was empty! I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as my eyes searched the room for my charge. They froze on the sliding glass door that connected to the balcony of the hospital room. I registered the back of Bart's head looking over the edge of the balcony before he turned to me with tear-filled eyes. Time seemed to stop. We both looked at each other for five seconds, though it felt like an eternity, each of us in disbelief for what we were seeing.

I was the first to take action though as my long legs carried me to the sliding door, which I flung open with great force. I dropped to a desperate kneel so I was a bit below eye-level in front of Bart, whose eyes were wide and watery as he slowly reached up his hand to touch my face with uncertainty –Acting as if I were a figment of his imagination. I took his hand in mine, feeling how cold his fingers were and carefully watched his face.

Bart's chest seemed to rise and fall with such intensity I was afraid he was having a panic attack, but then I saw his face crumble and the tears fall and I knew he was just sobbing. Still, it had the same effect of breaking my heart all the same.

"I-I thought you a-abandoned m-me…" Bart stuttered, partly because he was now bawling helplessly and shivering from the winter chill in the air.

I just shook my head, totally speechless. How could he ever think I would do that? Hadn't I proved to him enough that I would always be there for him, that I would always be his father no matter what he did? Instead of conveying my regret and love to him in words, I pulled him down into a hug so fierce that I ended up falling onto the floor with Bart in my lap. I didn't care about sitting on the floor against the cold bars of the balcony though. As long as I had him in my arms, I felt an amazing weight being lifted off my shoulders.

"Never," I whispered into Bart's ear as he continued to noisily weep into my shoulder. "I love you too much to ever leave you. I'm so sorry I didn't make it clearer to you. I love you so much, Bart, so much…"

"I love you too, Ollie." Bart said quietly and genuinely, warming my insides and face with those five little words. He pulled a little out of my embrace to look into my red-rimmed eyes seriously. "I think you do a great job of being a dad."

I don't know how the kid did it, but sometimes he could always think up the right words to day. Granted, most of the time, he said a lot of bad words, but this time, nothing could have made me feel better or more fulfilled than hearing my son say that to me. It contradicted everything that I had been tearing me apart these past few weeks. I smiled at him, "Even without the parenting books?"

Bart's serious face turned into a watery eyed grin and he let out a short laugh. "Especially without the books. Dr. Phil is a quack anyway, you should know."

I laughed, pulling Bart closer to land a kiss on his forehead, which he blushed about, unaccustomed to the signs of affection.

We stayed like that for I don't know how long, each simply enjoying the others' presence. Bart sniffed and shuddered as a particularly icy wind blew over us though, and I tightened my hold around him, just a bit as I was still conscious of his newish injuries.

"What are you doing out here anyway, crazy?" my voice rumbled, but I got no reply. I panicked a little as I looked down, but I calmed a bit as I saw that Bart had just fallen asleep in my arms, his head rolling lightly against my wrinkled green dress shirt. I smiled and gathered him further into my arms before precariously picking him up. I carried him in one hand and pushed his drug distributor machine in the other as I reentered the hospital room.

After parking the machine to one side of the bed, I took hold of Bart with two hands before gently laying him onto the starchy sheets and mattress. I searched the cupboards from the side of his headboard until I found more blankets to cover him with. His face seemed to relax a little with the renewed warmth, sending a wave of relief over me. I was afraid he had gotten too chilled from being outside for so long.

I was so happy he was awake and that we could finally go back to being a family again.

XxxxXXXxxxX

_2 Months Later_

XxxxXXXxxxX

I shuddered a little as I walked stiffly through the door of the massive house. The winter cold outside was getting brutal as it drew closer and closer to the Christmas holiday. Surprisingly, Ollie was right at the door to greet me. In his hands he carried three tweed suitcases down the winding staircase and dropped them with a plop to the floor in front of me.

I frowned deeply at his actions and turned my face from Oliver towards the front door, hoping he didn't see the flash of sadness in my eyes. Honestly, after the year we had just gone through together, I thought it wouldn't be too much to ask for us to spend a holiday together without him going out of town.

I sighed and began pulling off my coat but let out a small protest as Ollie pushed it right back onto my shoulders. I turned to look up at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Our flight leaves in an hour. We gotta go now."

I shook my head, not understanding. _Our _flight? "Wha?" I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

Ollie rolled his eyes, but a smile pulled at his lips so I knew he wasn't as exasperated with my naivety as he let on. "Don't you ever pay attention when I'm telling you to put plans on your calendar?"

I feigned thinking about the question for a moment before answering, "Um, no. How does one acquire such a contraption?"

Oliver let out a small chuckle, rapping me on the head lightly with his knuckle. He bent down to lift one of the bags that had appeared light in his hold, but once he rested it in my arms, it suddenly seemed incredibly heavy. "We're going to Grandma and Grandpa's for Christmas."

Suddenly his intentions clicked. Sure I was happy that we would be spending the holiday together, but when I figured out where, I couldn't suppress the exaggerated groan escaping my lips. "Olllliiiieee, but whyyyy?" The Grandma and Grandpa in question were actually Ollie's grandparents. When Oliver adopted me, it seemed _they _adopted me as well, and sometimes, they took their roles as the spoiling, coddling grandparents a _little _too seriously for my liking…

"Ugh, I was wondering why I didn't hear your whining the first time I told you." Ollie muttered quietly but still loud enough for me to hear. Hmph. I resented him thinking I "whine." "Honestly, Bart, when we went to see them for the Fourth of July you said you had a great time."

"That was because I could forgive the fact that they took me to a petting zoo because of the awesome fireworks show. But if I have to endure another hour of babyish activities again, I'll probably have to take a quick trip to Rome just to make things interesting."

"I thought you were still recovering." A deep voice chimed into Ollie and my conversation. I turned to see Clark behind me, standing with a suitcase of his own in hand.

As happy as I was to see the man, I still had to glare at him for reminding Ollie once again of my physical condition. The blonde leader had forbade me from using my ability for about three months until my stitches and internal injuries fully healed. The scars were almost gone, but not totally. Still, it hadn't stopped me from the occasional dash to Chicago…

"Great, you're coming with us?" Ollie asked, happy to see one of his closest friends accompanying them on the trip to his quirky relatives' house.

Clark nodded, smirking, "Victor and AC convinced me. Said that I'd be right at home on their farm in Minnesota."

"Not only that, but we could also use your heat vision to keep us warm if the fire isn't hot enough!" Victor yelled out over the banister, and the three of us watched as both AC and Vic descended the stairs with duffels full of clothes as well.

"Looks like we're all set. Let's go." Ollie declared. I opened my mouth to protest some more, only to be drowned out by the gusting wind as Ollie ushered me out the door. Great! I had just gotten back from my friends' house and now I was leaving again. Between numerous hospital visits and school, I was starting to think I would never see the inside of our house again.

I stayed close to Oliver as we made our way to the taxi sitting curbside in front of the mansion. The snow had continued to fall from yesterday night and had left a biting wind in its wake. My face, probably the most exposed against the cold, frigid air, was pressed partly against the sleeve of Ollie's wool, black trench. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief as we neared the vehicle, a puff of white escaping my lips.

The driver, an older Indian man in a tan, bunched coat, nodded at us and opened the door to the sedan. The four of us piled into the back of the cramped cab, me mainly on Ollie's lap, as Clark rode shotgun. The heater was blowing loudly in the front seat, and I was glad to be in closest proximity to it.

I turned slightly to stare at Oliver.

"I don't see why," and I saw the tell-tale cringe as I spoke his four least favorite words. "We didn't just take our own car or our own plane to this place."

Ollie just ignored the question as a whole though, giving instructions to the driver for the airport. "Just enjoy yourself, Bart, like a normal kid."

I made a face at him and turned forward again, closing my eyes against the heat radiating into my skin. "Not a kid," I replied, almost by instinct.

Oliver laughed and pulled me backwards so I was resting my head against his shoulder. "Well, you're my kid."

I smiled at his commen, for once, not concerned about all the bigger problems with my life, just the thought that Ollie would always be the shoulder I could lean on.

XxxxXXXxxxX

"Oh, Dearie, you're going to look cute as a button in this sweater I made you!" I watched from afar as Bart made a face at the knit atrocity my grandma presented him with. He at least had the manners to say thank you without further prodding but still held it at a safe arm's distance, as if it were going to attack him with its long sleeves.

I couldn't help the snort that escaped my throat as I took a sip from my wine glass, hoping it hid my amusement. I looked up to see Bart just giving me a fierce glare though, his expression saying, "I told you this would happen." I smiled at him, feigning innocence.

"C'mon, son, try it on," my grandpa encouraged with a wave of his hand. Apparently, he was enjoying the spectacle of his wife and "grandson" just as much as I was. The only one oblivious to Bart's absolute displeasure seemed to be my grandma, who couldn't see how everyone was taking a certain degree of pleasure from Bart's scowling expressions.

"Umm, I think I'll save that for later," Bart tried but my grandma instantly objected.

"Now, now, I just want to see if it fits. You've gotten so thin since that last time I saw you. Ollie, what have you been feeding the poor boy?" My grandma took a moment to glare at me critically and I suddenly felt very guilty, a fact that Bart appeared to take pleasure in as a smug grin spread across his face.

My guilt level dropped at the mischievous glint in Bart's eyes and I smirked, "Well, I guess you'll just have to fatten him up. Eh, Grams?"

She chortled, turning back to Bart, who quickly went back to glowering at me and the sweater.

"Come now, let's see how it looks. Don't make me get your father over here." My grandma said, and Bart finally conceded, more to get it over with then for the threat of having me intervene.

Clark walked over stabbing at the Christmas ham on his plate and watching the scene of Bart trying to pull the atrocious and bulky sweater over his head. The super man let out a snicker as Bart accidentally began sticking his head through the slot where his arm was supposed to go.

I glanced at Clark with a smile, studying his face for a moment. "Thanks," I said finally to which Clark replied by turning to me with a quizzical look in his eyes. I shrugged into the direction of where Bart sat opening his presents. "Thank for helping me out with him. Without you pointing out the obvious, I would never have seen Bart for what he truly is: a kid that needs guidance and protection. I totally overestimated him and almost missed a chance to have him become one of the biggest aspects of my life…"

Clark only smiled, turning his head back in the direction of where Bart sat, giving the sweater stretched over his chest a petulant frown. "Don't worry about it. I can't take all the credit, after all. I would never have imagined it working out like this, but I'm really glad it did."

I watched as Bart smiled a little at the way my Grandma complimented him. Even in the horrendous sweater, I could tell he was genuinely happy to be surrounded by his eccentric new grandparents. I would never have guessed it either, but the cure to most of Bart's problems had been a new look on the definition of family. I hadn't realized how lucky I was to be a part of it.

"Me too," I said with unadulterated sincerity. I pulled out my camera phone and took a snapshot of the apple of my eye. My son, my hero, Bart Allen.

XxxxXXXxxxX

**A/N:** Aww, tears! So much smarm in this it hurts! Whelp, it's been a great ride with you all and I thank you dearly for your support through the good times (fast updates) and bad (two month hiatuses). You patience and support have truly made this all possible. Please, leave me some final parting words?

Stay Amazing! Please Review!


End file.
